


Sins of Thy Father

by AOS357



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Justice League - All Media Types, Justice League Dark (Comics), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Violence, Mystery, Organized Crime, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2019-07-01 22:54:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 30,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15783795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AOS357/pseuds/AOS357
Summary: After the massacre at the sheriff's station, Stiles and his dad move to Gotham for a fresh start. But trouble always seems to find Stiles, especially in one of the most crime-ridden cities in the country.





	1. Back to the beginning

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic on ao3, and I am excited to start writing. Some characters may be a little OOC. I'll be pulling from multiple sources like the comics and TV shows/movies; the timeline will be moved around to fit my story. 
> 
> As always, everything belongs to their respective creators and I'm just using it for fun. Thanks for reading and let me know what you think :)
> 
> Also crossposted on fanfiction.net

The room was shrouded by darkness. At the foot of his bed, yellow, slitted eyes stared down at him. The moonlight illuminated the kanima's green scales.

Stiles sunk is head lower into his pillow as if the simple action alone would put some distance between them. Fear paralyzed his body.

"You're not real. You're not real." Stiles muttered repeatedly.

The kanima hissed. Its reptilian claws dug into the mattress.

He backed up slowly into the headboard. The kanima looked absolutely feral.

‘It can't hurt me’, Stiles reassured himself.

The kanima crept closer until he could feel its breath across his neck.

"Oh, it can't hurt you?" A familiar voice sarcastically remarked.

Stiles' head whipped towards the figure leaning against the doorframe.

"Gerard." He exhaled.

"Surprised to see me?" Gerard picked up his lacrosse ball and examined it. "Gothamites aren't real big fans of lacrosse, are they?"

From the corner of his eye, Stiles could see the kanima retreat towards the edge of his bed.

"No, they're not," Stiles responded, "and considering what happened at my last game, neither am I."

Gerard tsked, and he clasped his hands together. "Now that was just a simple misunderstanding."

Righteous indignation bubbled under his skin despite how terrified he felt. "You call beating me to a bloody pulp a misunderstanding. A misunderstanding is when you leave the toilet seat up and your dad falls in!"

Gerard’s face quickly morphed from indifference to anger. Without any warning, Gerard’s hands were around his throat. "Trust me! If I had really wanted to hurt you, then you would know!"

Stiles pried at his fingers to no avail. It was times like these that he wished he was a werewolf.

"All you've ever been is a nuisance. Always getting in the way. Scott didn't even blink when you left." Gerard lifted Stiles off the bed. "He's better off without you."

Black spots began to fill his vision. “Dad!" He gasped. "Dad!"

"He can't save you!" Gerard wore a maniacal grin. "Not your dad. Not Scott. Not anyone."

Stiles limbs began to feel numb. Gerard's image faded.  

"Dad." He called.

 

* * *

 

His body lurched forward with a start. His heart was pounding loudly in his chest.

"I'm here, son."

His dad pulled him into his chest and rubbed soothing circles on his back.

“You’re safe.”

Stiles’ eyes swept the room. It was empty. He buried his head into his dad's shoulder.

"It felt so real." He croaked. His throat felt raw and sore.

"The bad ones always seem real." An amused smile suddenly crossed his face. "But I think there's someone here who’s willing to chase them away."

Stiles heard a tiny _boof_ come from the side of his bed. He leaned over and saw a small dachshund attempting to jump on his bed.

His dad, taking pity, gave the puppy a small push. "There you go, Ajax."

Ajax proceeded to lick him relentlessly.

"Alright. Alright, boy. I'm up." The last shreds of his dream dissipated as he gave Ajax a tight hug.

"Let's get you some breakfast." Ajax barked in agreement.

His dad jokingly rubbed his stomach. "Do I get breakfast, too?"

Stiles laughed. "I think that's up to Ajax."

Once his dad and Ajax were gone, Stiles rummaged through his closet for his uniform which consisted of a dull, buttoned-up, white shirt and black slacks. He missed the days he could just throw on his ACDC shirt and a pair of jeans.

Stiles checked himself out in the mirror. At least Lydia was thousands of miles away.

He swung his backpack over his shoulder and made his way to the kitchen to serve Ajax his breakfast as promised. He even sneaked the little guy a couple of treats.

“I think we’re out of cereal, dad.” Stiles said after a thorough search of the cupboards. He peered into the sink and saw a bowl with dried milk on the edges.

“You ate the last of the cereal!”

His father feigned innocence and straightened out his newspaper. “Did you hear about the charity ball Bruce Wayne is throwing?”

“Dad.” Stiles whined. It was his favorite.

His dad sighed and set down his mug. “I’m sorry. I ate the last of it when I came in last night. I thought you wouldn’t notice.”

“Well, you forgot the first rule in the criminal rule book.” Stiles smugly grinned and lifted the bowl out of the sink. “Get rid of the evidence.”

His dad rolled his eyes. “I guess I didn’t get the memo.”

“Well I did ‘cause you still don’t know who ate the last of the chocolate chip cookies.” Stiles deftly sidestepped his dad’s swatting newspaper and reached for the pop tart box. “It’s bad for your cholesterol anyways.”

His dad gave him an incredulous look. “And that pop tart is good for yours?”

“Well of course.” He grabbed the pop tart as it shot up from the toaster. “I’m a growing boy. Need the carbohydrates and all that other stuff.”

‘’Plus, it's the best thing in the world.” He said as he stuffed the pop tart into his mouth.

“Of course. Of course.” His dad’s face twisted into disgust at his open mouth.

“Sorry.” Stiles wiped his mouth with his sleeve. He pulled up a chair and set his glass of milk on the table.

“So,” his dad started. Stiles internally groaned. He knew that look. It was the ‘I’m very worried about you’ look. “How’s school? Are you adjusting okay?”

“Good. Peachy.” He lied.

“You sure?” His dad asked again. He didn’t sound entirely convinced.

Stiles gave him a noncommittal nod. While the schoolwork wasn’t that hard, his social life was seriously lacking.

“Okay.” His dad let the matter go, but his eyes said that the conversation was not over. “I talked to Melissa yesterday. She says Scott’s made captain of the lacrosse team. Have you talked to him lately?”

“Yeah. He’s been really busy with lacrosse and Allison.” _His pack_ is left unsaid _._ Stiles flipped his phone over.

NO NEW MESSAGES.

He tried to not let the hurt show on his face. “So, how’s work?” Stiles asked.

“You know I can’t give you any details, Stiles.”

He raised his hands in mock surrender. “It’s just innocent curiosity.”

“The last time you said that, you and Scott went looking for a dead body in the woods.”

Stiles huffed. “It was only one time.” It really was and it’s not like he hadn’t learned his lesson. Mostly learned anyways.

“Fine. Nothing too glamorous. Just a couple of break-ins in the Upper East Side.”

Stiles noticed a pile of books neatly stacked on the table. “Are you gonna take the detective’s exam?” He asked excitedly.

His dad rubbed his temples. “I’ve been thinking about it. I was going to tell you when the time was right.”

“I think you should go for it, dad.” He was a shoe-in. Maybe then his dad would get the respect he deserved.

 “I think that’s exactly what I needed to hear. Thanks, kiddo.”

“Detective Stilinski has a nice ring to it.”

His dad reached over the table and ruffled his hair. “Yes, it does.”

_“My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard-”_

“Stiles Stilinski!” His dad hissed as he answered the phone. “Stilinski speaking. Yes. Yes. Okay. I’ll be there in 15.”

He hung up the phone and rubbed his face. “When I get home, we are having a serious conversation about boundaries.”

Stiles grimaced. “I figured I had that coming.”

His dad grabbed his coat. “Please don’t be late. I don’t want another phone call from your teacher that you missed first period.”

 

* * *

 

Even though Beacon Hills High had lacrosse and Lydia frickin’ Martin, it couldn't hold a candle to Gotham Academy. Gotham Academy was home to the city’s elite. Upper-class doctors, lawyers, and bankers would send their children to the academy to be groomed into the next generation of influential people in Gotham. With the small exception of Stiles, of course.

As a cop at the GCPD, his dad didn’t make much money, and whatever money he did earn went to pay the mortgage on their house. Knowing that Stiles was more likely to get in with the wrong crowd at one of Gotham’s notorious public schools, his dad urged him to apply for the Wayne scholarship that was offered at the academy. Stiles got a full ride and assuaged his dad’s fears.

“Move it, Stilinski!” But that didn’t make him welcome. Stiles winced as his head connected with his locker.

“Haha. Nice one, Brock. Very funny.” Stiles said as he rubbed the forming bruise.

“Freak.” Brock spat. The football player turned on his heel and ran after his friends.

Asshole. It was just what he needed. Another Jackson. Maybe he should get Derek to bite him, too.

“Ouch.”

Stiles spun around and saw a boy with black hair leaning against the lockers with his arms crossed. “Did I say that out loud?”

“Say what?” The boy asked. He seemed amused at the whole thing.

“Ah, nevermind.” He closed his locker. He really should stop sticking his foot in his mouth.

The boy rested a hand on his chin. “I can’t seem to figure you out.” His eyes observed Stiles with a thoughtful expression.

 “What do you mean?” The staring was starting to make him uncomfortable.

The boy shoved his hands in his pockets and approached Stiles at a leisurely pace. “I don’t understand why you let someone like Brock walk all over you? You pretend to be less intelligent than you are in class. And, you skip first period to go play lacrosse in the field even though you know you’ll get in trouble for it.” He furrowed his eyebrows. “But I haven’t even scratched the surface.”

Stiles backed away slowly, unsure. “One. That’s super creepy. Like stalkerish creepy. And two. How do you even know who I am? We’ve never met before.”

“Let’s just say I make a hobby of observing people. I’m Tim Drake by the way.” Tim extended his hand out towards Stiles.

“Stiles Stilinski,” he awkwardly shook Tim’s hand, “but you knew that already.”

Tim shrugged and folded his arms behind his head.

“Do you always greet people that way?” He was completely dumbfounded.

“Only the people that interest me.” Tim looked over at the book Stiles was carrying. “The Legend of the Batman.”

“Oh, yeah. It’s just something I found in the library.”

‘More like searched hours on end for.’ Stiles thought.

“I’ve read it before. They say he could be a vampire. Or a demon.” Tim commented. “What do you think he is?”

Stiles paused for a moment. A year ago, he would have discounted the claims as purely rumor. However, after fighting off Derek’s crazy uncle and getting paralyzed by a kanima, Stiles knew how dangerous it was to ignore local legend. “I don’t know. But I do know he’s a hero. The people he’s saved...there’s no other explanation.”

“Yeah.”

Tim reached into his backpack pulling out a piece of paper. “If you ever want to hang out,” He jotted down something quickly, “then stop by.”

Stiles took the paper. Tim was different, but for some reason, he didn’t feel like it was a bad thing.

Tim waved as he left down the corridor. “I’ll see you around, Stiles.”

Stiles turned over the note. _Wayne Manor._

 _“_ Hey, wait-” Damn. He was gone.

Stiles shook his head and looked around the hallway, noticing a distinct lack of students getting ready for their first class.

“Mr. Stilinski. We’re waiting.” Oh, no. Stiles nearly smacked his forehead.

“Sorry, Mrs. Pierce.” There was definitely no escaping now. Bye, bye lacrosse. Stiles ducked into the classroom, avoiding Mrs. Pierce’s disapproving glance.

He spent the rest of the day trying to concentrate on his lectures, but he was really just going through the motions. His mind kept wandering to his conversation with Tim. Had he just made a friend?

“It’s looking good, Stiles.” His art teacher commented. “Any particular reason the wolf’s eyes are red.”

He set his paintbrush on the table. “He’s an alpha.”

“It really makes him look strong and powerful. I like it." 

“I was going more for a sour wolf.” Stiles mumbled.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.” He piped up. She shot him a curious glance but moved across the room to help another student. Stiles inspected his painting. He was brought back to the day he first met Derek in the woods. He remembered Derek’s menacing glare as he kicked them off his property. Oh, sweet memories.

Paint splashed over his work, and he looked up to see Brock, who covered his mouth in surprise. “Oops. I should really watch where I’m going.”

Stiles quickly tried to wipe off the mix of blacks and blues but his painting was already ruined. “Yeah, you should.” He snapped.

That was obviously the wrong thing to say. “What are _you_ going to do about that?” Brock asked. He poked his large, meaty finger into Stiles’ chest.

Stiles saw red, and he swung his fist at Brock. Pain exploded through his arm. Brock felt like a brick.

“ _Motherfucker_!” Brock yelled as he held his bleeding nose. “You’re dead, Stilinski!”

“Oh, fuck.” His dad was going to kill him. “That was totally an accident. My hand slipped.” Stiles said lamely.

“You know what’s going to be an accident?”

“I’m guessing that doesn’t involve a light tap on the shoulder.” Where the hell was the teacher?

Brock growled. While Stiles never imagined poking a sleeping bear, he felt his current predicament fit the criteria perfectly.

He clenched his eyes shut and waited for the inevitable. And waited. Stiles cracked an eye open and saw Tim standing in front of a sprawled Brock. “Are you sure you’re not stalking me?”

Tim rolled his eyes. “I’m actually in this class.”

“But you’ve never been here before!”

“I’m actually in a lot of your classes.” Tim looked over to Brock, who was fuming, and his two lackeys that were standing behind him. “Can we focus on a more pressing matter?”

“Yep. Fight that we are definitely going to lose.”

“That’s the spirit, Stiles.”

 

* * *

 

Stiles nursed a black eye outside of the headmaster’s office. Tim was sitting beside him. “How did you _not_ get hit?” 

“I guess I’m a better fighter than you are. Also, I don’t think throwing yourself at people is considered fighting. It’s a miracle you didn’t break anything.”

“But did you see the other guy! Obviously, it works.”

Tim shook his head and laughed. “The only reason that worked was because he tripped over the trash can.”

Stiles laughed, too. That is, until Headmaster Hammer opened the door to his office, steaming.

“I hope you are both aware that I have contacted each of your parents. They will be arriving shortly.” He said in a clipped tone and shut the door.

Tim’s demeanor quickly became sober. “Bruce is not going to be happy.”

“Is Bruce your dad?”

Tim held his face in his hands. “Adopted dad. He is going to ground me into next year.”

“My dad will probably arrest me on the spot.” Stiles rubbed his eye. “I think I’ve been punished enough though.”

That seemed to peak Tim’s curiosity. “Your dad’s in the GCPD?”

“Yeah. He used to be the sheriff in my old town,” Stiles hesitated before continuing, “but some things happened there that made him want to move to Gotham. He actually lived here with my mom before I was born.”

“I hope Brock hasn’t ruined your experience here in Gotham. Not everyone’s like him.”

“I think I’m starting to get that. I’m sorry that I got you in trouble.”

“You didn’t ask me to. Brock and his friends had it coming.” Tim nudged him. “I wasn’t going to let a short stuff like you get pummeled all by yourself.”

Stiles was about to say they were only a couple inches apart when a tall man dressed in a suit came into view. He had a certain air of seriousness. Tim’s dad was pissed. “Alfred leave the car running, I don’t think this will take long.”

They sat in uncomfortable silence until his dad arrived. Stiles gave him a small wave. “Hey, daddio.”

“Don’t. Just don’t.” His dad didn't look angry. Disappointed yes. Stiles didn’t know which one was worse. “You and I have a lot to talk about. Fighting! What were you thinking?”

At the arrival of their parents, the headmaster popped out of his office again. “Mister Wayne. Officer Stilinski. Please, come inside. We have much to discuss about your children’s behavior.”

Stiles turned to Tim with wide eyes. “Your dad is Bruce Wayne!”

Tim gave him a nod. Stiles didn't press, the attention making Tim obviously uncomfortable. 

“Do you want to eavesdrop?”

“I thought you would never ask.”

Stiles pressed his ear against the door. They both jumped at a loud bang.

“He has a black eye for Pete’s sake! I don’t believe for a second that Stiles acted unprovoked. Yes, he was wrong, but what are you going to do to protect him from those bullies?”

Go dad! Stiles cheered from where he was crouched.

“Well, Mr. Stilinski, Brock is an exceptional student. This is the first altercation he has been involved in. I am inclined to believe him over Stiles, who after being here two months, has missed first period nearly every day. I am worried Stiles will have a bad influence over Tim as shown by the altercation that occurred this afternoon.”

Stiles could hear a throat clear. “Headmaster Hammer, Tim is a person who never acts without reason. It is obvious that he meant to protect Stiles. If you cannot see that, then I can assure you that my contributions to the academy will cease if you fail to resolve this.”

“Now, now, Mr. Wayne.” The headmaster forced a sweet tone. “I also want this issue to be resolved. Seeing that Tim and Stiles have not had any disciplinary issues of this magnitude before, I think a warning should suffice. But mark my words, if it happens again, I will not hesitate to expel both your sons. Gotham Academy does not tolerate violence.”

“I think we’re done here, Mr. Hammer.” His dad said. Stiles and Tim scrambled to their chairs.

The door flew open, Mr. Wayne and his father bustling through. Anger was clearly visible on their faces. “Let’s go, Tim.”

“Stiles.”

They followed diligently behind their dads.

“Having a dad who owns half of Gotham has its perks,” Tim whispered. Stiles grinned.

As they exited the academy, Mr. Wayne turned to his dad and extended his hand similarly to how Tim did to Stiles. “It was a pleasure meeting you today, John. Even under the circumstances. Our sons seem to have bonded and seeing as Tim has few friends, I would like to formally invite you and your son over for dinner sometime.”

His dad shook his hand. “My boneheaded son and I would love to come over sometime. I hear a lot about you from Gordon at the station.”

“Good things I hope.”

His dad chuckled. “You bet.”

They stepped out and onto the steps of the school when Stiles was blinded by flashing red and blue lights. Guns were trained on all of them.

Mr. Wayne stepped protectively in front of Tim.

“FREEZE! ON THE GROUND NOW!”

His dad shoved him onto the cold cement. “Do what they say, Stiles.”

Stiles folded his hands behind his head and saw officers swarm around his dad. He laid there in shock, not really sure what was happening. The clink of handcuffs rang loudly in Stiles’ head. And as if someone finally pressed the play button, Stiles made a move to stop them.

“Stay down, Stiles.” Mr. Wayne whispered harshly.

Stiles growled from his position on the floor. “What are you doing to my dad? He hasn’t done anything wrong!” His dad was one of the good guys. He would never-

“I’ll figure this out, Stiles. I promise.” His dad told him as they hauled him to his feet. “I love you, son.” He added quickly.

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you.”

“Hey! Leave him alone!” Stiles yelled at the officer. His dad was dragged towards the patrol car.

Why were they taking him away? His dad was innocent. Stiles got up and ran after his dad despite the shouts of protest from Mr. Wayne and Tim. He was so close. So very, very close.

He felt someone pull him roughly away. “Let me go, Parrish!” Stiles struggled against his grip. “Please!” He begged. “Oh, fuck no!” He watched helplessly as the car disappeared from his view.

“Dad!”


	2. Fathers and Sons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Some depiction of violence at the end of the chapter.

“I know you’re upset about your dad, but you can’t stop going to school.”

Stiles pulled his knees closer to his chest and laid his head on top of them.

“Stiles,” He heard Parrish sigh behind the door, “will you at least talk to me?”

Stiles wiped at his eyes. “I’m fine.”

“You’ve been locked in there for nearly a week, Stiles. That doesn’t sound fine to me.”

“What do you want me to say?” Stiles snapped. “My dad’s in prison for murder and I can’t do anything about it!”

“I know. But I made a promise to your dad, Stiles. I told him I would take care of you. If you don’t go to school, they’ll take you away from me. Please don’t make me go through that again.”

Stiles felt a pang of guilt. Parrish only ever wanted to help. After the massacre at the sheriff's station, Parrish was one of the few people to sign up for the deputy’s position. He even moved to Gotham, becoming a GCPD officer alongside his dad. In only a few months, Parrish had become a brother to Stiles and a second son to his dad.

Stiles opened the door and was met with a disheveled Parrish sitting against the wall, his eyes red-rimmed from lack of sleep. “I’m sorry for making you worry.” Stiles said quietly.

“Well, that’s what little brothers are for.” Parrish pushed himself off the floor. “By my count, you still have about thirty minutes before the bus passes by.”

Stiles snorted. “I’m guessing that’s what big brothers are for.”

“Now you’re getting the hang of it.”

Stiles rolled his eyes and made a beeline for the bathroom.

“Don’t use up all the hot water!” Parrish yelled from the kitchen. “Last time it felt like I was taking a shower in Siberia.”

 

* * *

 

(15) MISSED CALLS

Stiles tucked his phone into his pocket not really wanting to talk to Scott. He commandeered a secluded table in the cafeteria and propped up a textbook to hide his face. Whispers and stares followed him from class to class, some curious and others frightened. Even Brock, who never missed a chance to harass him, was relatively quiet.

“Mind if I sit here?”

Stiles peered over his textbook and saw a smiling Tim standing with his sack of lunch.

“Knock yourself out. It’s not like anyone else is gonna take it.” He pushed his books to the side and made a space for Tim.

“So,” Stiles began, “did you hear what happened?”

“Yeah.”

“And you don’t think I’m some psycho killer like them?” He asked, pointing to a group of girls who kept looking their way.

“Not really.”

“You’ll be the first.” Stiles picked off the pickles from his sandwich. “What are you eating?”

Tim peeled the lid off of his container. “Just some leftover casserole from yesterday. Alfred doesn’t like to waste food.”

“I’m jealous. Parrish, he’s a friend of my dad’s, isn’t exactly what I would call a great cook.” Stiles emphasized great with air quotes. “The last time he tried to make spaghetti, my dad and I had to call the fire station.” He laughed. “You should have seen it.”

“That would have been fun to see.”

“Yeah.” His smile died away.

Tim put a hand on his shoulder. “Your dad’s going to be okay.”

“I haven’t talked to him since that day.” Stiles confessed. “He must hate me.”

“I don’t think your dad can hate you, Stiles. He probably understands you need some time.” Something about Tim, the sincerity in his voice, made Stiles want to believe him.

Stiles threw up his hands in frustration. “I should at least be out there looking for something to help my dad.”

“What are you going to find that the police haven’t?”

“I don’t know. Something. Anything.”

“And what if you find out that this is bigger than you are? If your dad is innocent, then someone went through a lot of trouble to frame him. Someone probably very important.”

“That’s exactly why I have to try, Tim. The police have already condemned my dad. The press have vilified him. You know what they hate worse than cop killers? It’s cops who kill other cops. No one else is going to help him.”

“I get it, Stiles. But Gotham is not like Beacon Hills. If you start looking where you’re not supposed to, then you can end up hurt, or worse, dead.” Tim said, sounding grave.

“You sound like you know from experience.”

Tim got a faraway look in his eyes. “I lost both my parents to crime. I know exactly how dangerous Gotham can be”

“I’m sorry-”

“You don’t need to apologize. I’ve made peace with it. I just want you to be careful, Stiles.”

The bell rang, disrupting their conversation.

“Don’t forget to stop by. ” Tim threw his trash into the bin. “Everyone wants to meet you.”

Stiles felt his face flush. “Really?” He asked. “Are you sure your dad is okay with me coming over?”

“Of course. Bruce isn’t like the press make him out to be. He won’t judge you over what’s happened. And, just by complimenting his casserole, you’ve already won some points with Alfred.”

 

* * *

 

Stiles hunched in his seat and  sneaked a glance at the people around him. Most were crying. Others were immersed in conversation as if they weren’t surrounded by armed guards and separated by a thick glass. Stiles just stared ahead, unable to utter any words. His dad sat across from him. His eyes were full of concern.

“Stiles?”

His dad knew the telltale signs of a panic attack. He helped Stiles through many of them. But right then and there, he was completely helpless.

Stiles blinked rapidly. His breath hitched. The image of his dad in an orange jumpsuit was forever etched into the back of his mind. Prison was taking its toll. Cuts littered his dad’s face. He didn’t seem as strong as Stiles had imagined.

_"Mieczyslaw.”_

Stiles snapped out of his thoughts at the sound of his real name. His dad placed a hand at the bottom of the glass.

“I’m sorry, dad.” Stiles blurted out.

His dad gave him a weak smile. “You have nothing to be sorry for, son.”

Stiles shook his head. “I should have come. I abandoned you like everyone else.”

“Stop right there, Stiles.” His dad said sternly. His knuckles turned white from how hard he was gripping the phone. “You have not abandoned me. Come or don’t come, you are my son, and I will always love you.”

Stiles scrunched up his face, trying not to cry. “Tell me there’s something I can do.”

“What you can do for me is go to school and continue to live your life. Sooner or later, I’ll get out. Hopefully sooner now that a lawyer has agreed to represent me, pro bono. He says I’ve got a good chance.”

“How do you expect me to act normal,” Stiles’ voice shook, “when you’re here, and I don’t know if you’re going to be okay or not?”

His dad sighed. “I don’t expect you to. I just want to keep you safe.”

“And who is going to keep you safe, dad?” Stiles asked in a harsh whisper.

“I can take care of myself, Stiles. It’s not your job to protect me!”

Stiles flinched at his tone. His dad usually reserved that tone for when he was being stubborn.

“I’m sorry. You are all that matters to me, and I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you. Promise me that you will not get involved with this case, Stiles. I need to know you’re okay out there, too.”

Stiles did not respond immediately. He felt numb. “I promise, dad.”

“I have to go. I love you.”

“Me, too.”

His dad hung up the phone and disappeared behind the door.

Stiles sat there remembering the first time his dad had left him at school. He had been so lost and scared. It wasn’t until he had come back that Stiles knew he had nothing to worry about. His dad would always come back. This time, he wasn’t so sure.

“Please, forgive me.” He hung up the phone, and walked out of the prison, not looking back.

He would free his father. No matter what it took.

 

* * *

 

_Batcave_

"You have been looking through the footage for nearly three hours, Master Bruce. What is it you expect to find?” Alfred set a tray on the desk.

“Discrepancies.” Bruce said, picking up a mug. “John Stilinski was the sheriff of Beacon Hills. He is a GCPD officer. Why would he kill Tom Dougherty in broad daylight, in front of multiple witnesses and cameras?”

“Maybe it was in the heat of the moment?” Alfred suggested.

“I don’t think so. John looked as surprised as I was when the GCPD arrived. Someone is trying to frame him, Alfred. I just need to find out why.”

“Perhaps a break, Master Bruce. You have not rested since the day Mr. Stilinski was arrested.”

Bruce shook his head. “No. I know there is something missing. I can't let his son watch him rot away in prison.”

Alfred raised an eyebrow. “Is that why this case is so important to you, sir?”

Bruce folded his hands under his chin. “He is Tim’s friend.” He answered.

“I know that is not the only reason, Master Bruce.”

Bruce closed his eyes. “I see a lot of Jason in him. Stiles is intelligent, but brash. If he hasn’t figured out his father was framed yet, then he will soon. I’m afraid without guidance he will be driven by anger.”

A ping sounded from the monitor.

“Shall I prepare the Batmobile?”

“Yes.” Bruce pulled the cowl over his head. “Tell Tim I will be back late.”

 

* * *

 

_Unknown warehouse, Gotham City_

There was a certain thrill when he caught his prey. Jason circled the monster handcuffed to the chair. Five murders in the span of two days. All young girls who were ripped in half.

He tightened his grip on the metal pipe. Anger coursed through his body.

“Sam Gallagher.” He rubbed his chin. “Hm. That's a very suburban name for serial killer, don’ t you think? Any relation to the baseball player?”

The man glared. He slammed the pipe against the wall; the sound echoed through the warehouse. “You don't think I’m funny? I think I have a great sense of humour.” He pressed the end of the pipe into the man’s stomach.

“What the fuck do you want with me!” The man yelled.

Jason reached into his jacket and began to throw pictures onto the floor. “Angela Morales, 16. Katie Grant, 15. Tiffany Hughes, 17. Shall I go on?”

The man narrowed his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, Sammy. I think you do.” He waved the pipe in the air. “You’re going tell me how a scrawny twig like you managed to rip someone in half or else I am going to have to practice my batting swing with you.”

“What are you, some avenging angel?”

“I am no angel.” He said, bringing the pipe down again and again until all he saw was red.

The man spit the blood pooling in his mouth to the side and laughed. “You're making a big mistake.”

“Are you a metahuman?”

The man snarled. His eyes flashed yellow. Behind his helmet, Jason’s eyes widened.

“So, yes to that question.” Jason lowered the pipe.

“Just wait and see! There’s monsters you've never seen before, boy! And they’re all coming!” The man looked towards the window. He seemed to bask in the moonlight.

“Who’s coming?” Jason pressed.

“I'm going to kill you!”  

His teeth became jagged and sharp. The man howled in pain.

Jason could hear the distinct sound of bones breaking and shifting. Fur began to cover the man’s body. He took a step back, marveling at the transformation. “Oh man, you are an ugly fucker.”

He dropped the metal pipe and pulled out his gun.

The man, or wolf, broke through the restraints. It was now on all fours, growling at him. It charged. Jason pointed his gun and emptied a round into the wolf.

“Fuck.” The wolf continued to charge, unaffected by the bullets. Jason threw up his hands as the wolf plowed into him, effectively knocking him to the ground. Its nails dug deep into his skin.

“Come on, Sammy! Is that the best you got!” Jason stabbed the wolf in its side with a knife he kept hidden in his boot.

The wolf cried out in pain. Jason forcefully threw the creature away from him and jumped to his feet. The wolf recovered just as quickly. It looked angrier than before.  

Ignoring the pain from his chest, Jason moved his hand towards himself in the universal sign of come get me.

The wolf scratched the floor and charged again.

Jason let it get close. Then, he flipped over the wolf and landed on the opposite side. He grinned. “Sorry but I'm all out of time today, Sammy. ”

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

Boom!

The device he had planted on the wolf’s back exploded. Blood splattered in all directions. The wolf morphed back into Sam Gallagher.

Jason went over to inspect the body noticing something shiny adorning his finger. He plucked it off Gallagher. It was a class ring. He recognized it immediately. Gotham Academy. It must have come from one of the girls.

If Gotham Academy was his hunting ground, it was there he would find answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: I wanted to get this chapter up on ao3 because it is already on fanfiction.net. I will try to post the next chapters every Friday or when I get too impatient. Let me know what you think in the comments below.
> 
> Edit: Thanks to Kurozaya15 for helping me spell Stiles' real name and for their lovely review :)


	3. Detective Stilinski

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a pretty busy week, but I finally got to finish this chapter!

Stiles sat outside of the coffee shop, his feet propped up on the table as he watched the hordes of college students line up for their morning fix of caffeine. The sun was unbearably hot compared to the usual grey skies that hung over Gotham nearly every day of the year.

He glanced at his watch. A quarter past two. He looked down the road, a few cars passed by, but no Tim. He bit his lip, like he always did when he was nervous, unsure if Tim would come. They hadn’t been friends for long; Tim had no reason to take part in his outlandish requests.

Stiles decided it was time to leave. Tim didn’t strike him as a person who would be late. If he had wanted to come, then he would have come already. Stiles slid his feet off the table, ready to throw his trash away. That was when he heard it. An annoying bell that seemed to echo through the street. He glanced over his shoulder in the direction of the sound. People were jumping to the sides of the sidewalk in a hurry.

“Wait, Stiles!”

Tim was pedaling hard towards him, waving one hand in the air to try to get his attention. Stiles felt a smile break out on his face. Tim was riding a bright, red bike and decked out in a helmet and all sorts of protective gear.

Stiles braced himself as Tim hit the brakes and glided to a stop. Up close, he saw that Tim’s face was beet red and sweat drenched his shirt. “No offense, Stiles, but why did you ask me to bike all the way to Gotham U. when I could have just taken the bus?”

His eyes widened in horror and embarrassment. He patted his bike. “I thought I said _bring_ your bike. I actually took the bus here.”

He couldn’t really decipher the glare Tim sent his way. He cleared his throat. “I probably should have said that clearer. Are you mad?”

Tim collapsed into the chair in front of Stiles. “No.” He said. “I’m just tired. It’s been a while since I’ve taken out my bike for spin. Alfred was the one who suggested all the extra padding.”

Stiles choked back a laugh at Tim’s misery. It was technically his fault, but he didn’t know who else to call.

“Why are we here, Stiles?” Tim asked.

His mood sobered. He pointed to the coffee shop behind him. “My dad was here that afternoon. Getting a cup of coffee before heading out for patrol.”

Tim straightened up in his chair. He seemed to put two and two together. “Right before he got the call from Headmaster Hammer.”

“Exactly! He got the call at 2:30. What time did our dads get there?”

“3 o’clock.”

“So, 30 minutes. The police think they have footage of my dad at Robinson Park shooting Tom Dougherty. However, it would have taken more than 30 minutes to get from the university to the park and back to the academy. It’s impossible!” Stiles took a deep breath. “Are you following?”

Tim had a hand on his chin, deep in thought. “I think so. But how do you explain your dad arriving at the academy in 30 minutes when the distance from the university is 20 minutes.Tops.”

“Easy. The pileup on the bridge between Midtown and Uptown. It backed up traffic for 15 minutes that day.”

“So, we’re here to test that theory.” Tim laid his head on the table. “Wouldn’t a car have been easier?”

Stiles fiddled with the stopwatch hanging around his neck. “I had a car, but I had to leave it in Beacon Hills.” His poor baby. He only hoped Scott was taking good care of her. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but you’re the only one I trust. If you don’t want to, then I completely understand.”

Tim stood up, stretching his legs. “Alright, let’s go. We’re going to have to bike _really_ fast to simulate a car.”

Stiles wasn’t sure what came over him. If it was the months without an actual friend, or all the crap that’s happened to him, but he hugged Tim. He felt him tense under his grip.

“Sorry! Sorry!” He let go, patting down Tim’s shirt. ”I shouldn’t have done that. It’s just-you’re awesome.”

Tim cocked his head to the side. “I guess I am.”

“Are you ready?” Tim asked, mounting his bike again. Stiles nodded pulling his own from beside the table.

He held the stopwatch in his hand. “One. Two. Go!”

They shot through the air. The wind whipped against their faces. Stiles was breathing heavily as he followed the route his father supposedly took. His thighs burned. Tim was not far behind with equally red cheeks.

As he passed Robinson Park, he wondered what happened to his father that day. Was he rushing to the academy? Did he make a detour? Could he actually have-no. He couldn’t afford to think like that.

He just had to make it -

The chain of his bike suddenly stalled, throwing him over the handlebars. His hands took the brunt of the fall as he landed on the hard concrete with a thud.

He laid there in shock. A couple of people came over to see if he was alright. He heard Tim arrive, throwing his bike to the side. “It’s okay, I got it.” Tim said, shooing everyone away. “Are you okay, Stiles?”

Stiles pushed himself off the ground on shaky arms, and sat up against the wall behind him. Tim kneeled down in front of him, taking his scraped hands and inspecting them.

“It doesn’t look too bad. Your bike is another story.”

Stiles pulled his hands away and grabbed his head in frustration. “I can’t do anything right. This was a complete waste of time.”

Tim sat next to him and sighed. “It wasn’t a complete waste. Your plan just had a few kinks in it.”

“A few? I should have known it wouldn’t work! If only I had my Jeep-”

“It’s a start. Don’t let yourself get down. No one said it was going to be easy.”

Stiles appreciated the pep talk but couldn’t help feeling disappointed. He just needed a victory. Even a small one.

“How long did we take anyways?”

Stiles looked at his forgotten stopwatch. Fifty minutes. “Wow, we pedal pretty slow.”

Tim laughed, throwing his head back. “I'm sure my brother Dick would have said he could do it in twenty.”

Stiles raised his eyebrows. “Is your brother Superman?”

“He likes to think he is. By the way, how did you find all this out? I thought the cops had all the evidence on the down low?”

Stiles coughed into his fist. “I may or may not have looked at Parrish’s computer. He’s a trekkie fan so it wasn’t hard to figure out his password is live long and prosper.”

Tim squinted his eyes. “I'm starting to think trouble just looks for you, kid.“

“Hey, I'm not a kid! You’re only a year older than me.” Stiles pouted.

“How about we race to the library? Last one there pays for lunch.”

“You're on.”

 

* * *

 

“I wish I could find what I was looking for, Ajax.”

He rewinded the footage again. Ajax’s head drooped onto the mattress. “I know, buddy. I’m tired too, but we can’t stop. Dad’s counting on us.”

The footage revealed nothing new. Tom was eating lunch in his patrol car. His dad approached from the rear. Bang. Bang. Tom’s head slumped over.

Stiles wanted to pull his hair out. He was trying to explain the impossible. It was his dad’s face, but he knew that it couldn’t be him. The man in that video showed no remorse. He had a coldness that his father was incapable of.

He pulled the covers over himself as a sudden draft of cold air chilled the room.

“ _Stiles."_ Someone called from the hallway.

“Parrish?”

“ _Stiles."_

It sounded a lot closer than before. Stiles whipped his head left and right. That was definitely not Parrish’s voice.

“Who’s there?” He asked. Ajax was now fully awake. His tiny teeth were bared.

“It’s okay. No one’s here.” Stiles petted Ajax even though he was unsure himself.

_Scrrreeecchh._

Stiles recoiled at the sound, pressing his hands to his ears. The noise was like fingernails on a chalkboard. Ajax leapt off the bed. In his haste, he knocked the laptop to the ground and darted out into the hallway.

Stiles let go of his ears. They were still ringing, but the noise was gone.

“Ajax?”

He could still hear the dachshund barking somewhere in the house. Taking his lacrosse stick, he clambered out of bed and down the stairs. In the dark, it was hard to see and even harder not to swing at every shadow. He opened every closet expecting something to jump out at him.

“Hello? If anyone’s there, then I have a weapon and I’m not sure how to use it!”

He suddenly tripped on a tiny body that let out a yelp, his lacrosse stick flying out of his hands. “Ajax, oh my god! I’m sorry!” He picked the puppy up and squashed it in a tight hug. “I’m a horrible person, but why were you walking right in front of me, boy?”

Ajax licked his face, completely oblivious to the fact that Stiles almost punted him across the room. “I guess no one’s here. I must be more tired than I thought.”

He carried Ajax back up the stairs, depositing him on the bed, and picking up the laptop. A quick inspection showed no scratches or cracks. He would have been a dead man.

Stiles paused as he caught sight of the footage. His dad’s eyes were glowing. He hadn’t noticed that before. The impossible was staring right at him.

“Ajax, I found it!” Stiles bounced on the bed in excitement. It was finally something!

“Found what exactly? All I’ve found is a sixteen-year-old boy snooping through my work laptop. Which, by the way, can get me into serious trouble. How did you get in anyway? You know what. Don’t tell me. You’re grounded for a week.” Parrish stood with his arms crossed in the doorway. Stiles cursed his luck. Parrish must have come home early. His face showed clear signs of irritation.

“Grounded! You’re not my father!” His blood was boiling. What right did Parrish have to ground him?

“I am your _guardian_! It’s my job to keep you safe. This, this is not healthy.” Parrish took the laptop from him and placed it under his arm.

“No. No. No! Just look at it, Parrish. His eyes aren’t right. They’re glowing. That has to mean something. Please!”

Stiles, for the first time, was tempted to blurt out everything about the supernatural. Werewolves, kanimas, druids, the works. The only way for his father to be at two places at once was if there was something else wearing his face. Something that must exist to explain it all.

“Listen, Stiles. The police have combed through everything. It was a sunny day. It could have been a glare.”

“It’s a frame job and you know it! Why don’t you care?”

“Of course I care, Stiles! Your dad is the closest thing I have to a father. Glowing eyes don’t mean anything. I know you want your dad back but obsessing over this case won’t help.”

“I hate you!” Stiles stormed out of the bedroom and down into the living room. Parrish was treating him like a little kid. He was practically an adult.

He noticed Parrish’s phone on the coffee table. Curiosity got the better of him and picked up the phone. Two missed calls. Both unknown. If Parrish wanted him to stop snooping, then he shouldn’t have left his phone out in the open.

He peered over his shoulder, making sure that Parrish wasn’t in sight. He dialed the number. After a few rings, someone picked up.

“Hello?”

“ _Is this Officer Jordan Parrish? From the GCPD?_ ”

It was a woman. Stiles hesitated. He could call for Parrish but-

“This is he.” He said in his best imitation of Parrish’s voice.

The woman sighed in relief. “ _Finally! I've been trying to reach you. My name is Vicki Vale and I work for the Gotham Gazette. I know this will sound a bit strange but I have vital information regarding the Stilinski case. I heard you were the person to talk to._ “

Information about his dad. Information that could prove his innocence.

“ _Hello? Are you still there?_ ”

“Yeah. I’m still here. What information do you have?”

“ _Not over the phone._ ” She said quickly. “Y _ou don’t know who can be listening._ ”

Stiles froze. He needed that information. “What if we met? Gotham Academy, maybe? In 30 minutes?”

She didn’t say anything for what seemed like an eternity. “ _Okay. I’m in Midtown. I’ll try to get there as quickly as possible._ ”

Stiles hung up the phone and ran out the door. “I’m sorry, Parrish, but I can’t sit here and wait.”

 

* * *

 

Nights weren’t usually this quiet. Tonight, Stiles Stilinski was heading towards Gotham Academy. His gut told him that this wasn’t a usual occurrence.

“You can’t stay put, can you?” Bruce said, tracking Stiles’ phone.

He set course for the academy. Tim was at home finishing a major project. Tim wouldn’t, couldn’t, understand his motivations for keeping an eye on Stiles.

Jason had been a good kid, but he had hit a little harder than Dick ever would have. He had always gone a little too far. When his mother had been taken by the Joker, he didn’t think; he only saw red.

From the brief interactions he had with Stiles, Bruce knew that he was impulsive. Smart. With an obsession, it was all a recipe for disaster if left to stir. He didn’t need another Jason.  Alfred thinks he is trying to atone for his mistakes through Stiles. He might be right.

_“You’re a little young to be Jordan Parrish. Who are you?”_

_“Stiles Stilinski. John Stilinski is my father.”_

Vicki Vale. A reporter for the Gotham Gazette. Bruce Wayne was an enigma to her. Batman was an even bigger one. It looked like Vicki was under the impression she was meeting with Officer Parrish.

_“I should have known. I was suspicious when you said we should meet at the academy. This information is dangerous, Stiles. I can’t discuss it with you.”_

_“Why not?’’_

_“Because you’re just a kid!”_

_“Can everyone stop calling me a kid! Don’t I deserve to know the truth? My dad was taken from me for something he didn’t do. I go home every day and he’s not there; I have no idea why.”_

Bruce could see the same hurt that plagued Dick and Tim when their parents died. Their need for answers. For truth.

_“Fine. I’m not showing you this so you can get your own brand of justice. I’ve spoken to too many families left without an explanation. What you do with this information is up to you.”_

Vicki took a vanilla folder out of her bag and handed it to Stiles. He scanned the contents. His hands were shaking.

_“Where did you get this?”_

_“An informant in the FBI. Hey! Where are you going? I need that back!”_

Stiles mounted his bike and sped off.

Bruce dropped down from the ledge he was perched on.

“Batman. Why am I not surprised?”

“What did you show him, Vale?”

“Only what he wanted to hear.”

“What if goes after those responsible? He’s inexperienced. Rash. He could get himself killed. Did you think about that?” Bruce asked, anger bleeding into his voice.

Vicki frowned, pointing a finger into his chest. “Don’t you judge me, Batman. You’re not the one who has to sit with the victim’s families. Their loved ones get taken from them for no reason at all. His father could get life for this. He deserves the truth.”

She took another folder out of her purse. “Here. A good reporter always makes copies. If you’re worried about the kid, then you need to find whoever did this first.”

Bruce flipped through the folder. “It says here Tom Dougherty was a dirty cop turned informant for the Feds. Why wasn’t this in the system?”

“I heard that there was a massive cover-up. Tom was going to testify against the mob next month.”

“Which mob?”

“The Falcone Crime Family.”

“Mario.”

* * *

 

Air. He needed air.

His lungs were burning.

“Somebody help me! Somebody! PLEASE!”

He screamed despite knowing that nobody could hear him.

The darkness surrounded him on all sides. He was so cold.

Jason was buried alive.

And every night it would be the same. The pain. The dark.

Jason scratched and pushed at the wood which seemed like concrete. He needed to get out.

With a hard push, one of his hands punched through the wood. Dirt rushed in. He waded through the dense soil, making a mad dash for the surface. The first thing he saw was the moon’s light. It was a light in the darkness.

Jason crawled over the mound, coughing up dirt, and took a deep breath of air. It hurt but it was a refreshing feeling.

He rubbed his eyes clean. He knew what was behind him. He didn’t want to turn around.

“ _But you have to_ ,” a voice inside him beckoned.

This was how the dream always ended. This was how he awoke.

With dread, he turned.

_Here lies Jason Todd. Beloved son._

 

Jason woke drenched in sweat. He hated when he dreamt. That moment was forever replayed in his mind. Since his encounter with the meta beast, it had become more intense. He picked up the ring from his nightstand, closely examining it. Gotham Academy. The beast might not be the only one out there. He needed to hunt them and quickly.

He picked up his cell and dialed his contact.

“Hello?”

“Scarlet, I need information.”

“What is it you need? I can go with you, I promise-”

“No.” Jason massaged his temples. He couldn’t involve Scarlet. It was too risky. He didn’t know enough about how to destroy these creatures. ‘’Just shut up and listen. I need the locations of any new metas in Gotham. Especially near Gotham Academy.”

“Oh, ok.” He heard her typing away. “There are no meta reports, but there has been a report of a wild animal near Gotham Academy.“

This was it. He hung up, grabbing his gear on his way out the door.

 

Jason arrived at the Gotham Academy a short while later. The school was quiet except for the janitor, who was power washing the floors of the cafeteria. He made his way over to the football field. It was empty. Jason unholstered his gun. The sighting had been an hour ago; it couldn’t have gone far.

“Hey, motherfucker!” He taunted, banging on the benches. “You’ve come to the wrong city!”

Silence.

He walked through the field. Nothing was in sight.

_Woooshhhh._

Jason froze. He felt something sharp prick his neck. He brought his hand up and pulled a dart from his skin. What the hell?

Nausea overcame him and black spots entered his vision. He moved to call Scarlet but his arm was limp, unable to move.

“Lookie here, the wee bat took the bait.”

“Who are you calling a bat?” Jason growled, falling to his knees. The man kicked him in the stomach. Jason grunted.

“Not so strong now, wolf killer! The boss will like to see ya.”

Another pair of arms grabbed his shoulders and dragged him through the field.

“Baby bat! Baby bat!”

The melody rang through the field. Jason’s limp body was thrown into the back of a van.

 


	4. No Face

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter will introduce Stiles' plan and the new villain. Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think! :)

“Are you going to keep ignoring me, Stiles?” Parrish asked, eyes glancing at the rear view mirror.

 Stiles traced his finger along the foggy car window. “I don’t know. Can I have my phone back?”

“Nope. You’re still grounded. The only reason I’m letting you see Tim is because I think it will be good for you.”

Stiles pouted and went back to moping. The rain outside started to fall harder, almost as if the skies knew what a sour mood he was in. Parrish was being totally unfair. He needed his phone; it was his lifeline.

“You know, it's not my fault that you snuck out in the middle of the night. I circled the block six times.”

Stiles hated to admit it, but he probably should have called. It didn't mean that Parrish didn’t overreact. He was only gone for an hour. When he returned, Parrish had been frantic, asking him where he’d been, and on the verge of calling every available GCPD officer to look for him. Stiles had responded that he was being overly dramatic, which earned him another week of being grounded and the loss of his cell phone privileges. He had tried arguing his case. If Parrish wanted to know where he was, then why take away his cell phone? Nonetheless, his case was lost, and he ended up playing the silent treatment with the former deputy.

“Aren’t you excited to see Wayne Manor? I know I am.  I’ve never been to a mansion before.” Parrish said absentmindedly.

 “Tim said it wasn’t that big.”

“Well, I think Tim might have lied to you. This place is huge.”

As they approached the gates, Stiles got a full view of the manor. It stretched high into the sky, with more windows than he could count. Its Gothic architecture reminded him of the dark, imposing castles from those old-timey horror movies he watched with his dad. He almost expected to see a gargoyle lurking on the rooftop. It's safe to say that it was not what he imagined. “I think he did.” Stiles said with awe.

Parrish parked the car at the entrance where they were greeted by Tim’s butler, Mr. Pennyworth. He was tall man, dressed in a black, tailored suit. His hair was graying on the sides, and his grandfatherly smile was warm and inviting.

“The young sir is waiting for you inside. Master Bruce, unfortunately, will not be joining us today. He was called to a meeting on short notice. He sends his regards.”

Parrish checked his watch. “That’s alright. I have to be back at the station anyways. Stiles, be good. Call me when you need to be picked up.”

“Man, you sound old.”

Parrish looked like he wanted to smack him upside the head. Instead, he opted for patting him forcefully on the back. “Well that’s what happens when you have to take care of a teenager at 25. Have fun. Don’t make any trouble for Mr. Pennyworth.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “I won’t, mom.”

“I’m not even going to grace that with a response. Bye.” He turned to the butler who stood to the side, watching their antics with a hint of amusement. “Thank you for everything Mr. Pennyworth.”

“Not a problem, sir. Shall we.” Mr. Pennyworth extended his arm, guiding Stiles into the manor. “I have heard a lot about you Mr. Stilinski from Master Tim.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. I seem to recall him saying, I quote, Stiles thinks your casserole is awesome. Which is quite the compliment Mr. Stilinski.”

Stiles could feel the tips of his ears heat up in embarrassment. “Oh, it was great, Mr. Pennyworth.”

“Fear not, Mr. Stilinski. I am glad you enjoyed it. Please, call me Alfred.”

They stood at the foot of a large staircase. Stiles could hear loud footsteps coming from upstairs. “You made it!” Tim yelled from the railing. “Thanks, Alfred.”

The butler turned to leave. “I will be making refreshments. If there is anything you need, then do not hesitate to ask.”

Tim waved him up. “Come on. I have a lot of stuff to show you.”

Stiles walked up the stairs and followed Tim down the corridor. Antique furniture filled the rooms he could see. It was all very fancy and elegant, something he wasn’t used to. The most expensive thing his dad and him owned was their TV and even that they had gotten second hand.

“I have to show you my new Avengers PS4 game. Technically it’s Dicks but he lets me borrow it.”

Stiles held up his hand, confused. “Wait. That's not even out yet!”

“I know! Bruce got it for Dick’s birthday. He’s friends with the CEO of the gaming company.” Tim pushed open the door to his bedroom. “I call dibs on Captain America.”

As Tim set up the game, Stiles walked around the room, looking at his posters and books. The room was neater than his bedroom, but he suspected Tim had done some last minute cleaning if the bulge coming out from under his bed was any indication.

On the nightstand were a couple of pictures of Tim and some other people he didn’t recognize. He picked one up. “Are these your brothers?”

Tim set down what he was doing and walked over to Stiles. “The one on the left is Dick. Jason’s on the right.” He took the picture from him and sat on the bed. “He died a couple years ago. We never met, but Jason, Dick tells me, wasn’t close to many people. I keep his picture there, so I can keep his memory alive, you know?”

Stiles felt guilty for bringing it up. “I understand. I lost my mom, too.” Stiles said. “I was really little. I don’t remember much about her except that she had a really beautiful smile.”

And as the years passed, the image of her became hazier. Sometimes he remembered every detail of her face with clarity, but other times he couldn’t remember a thing. It’s why he kept a picture of her in his wallet, looking at it every chance he got. She only had his dad and him, so there wasn’t anyone else who would do it.

Tim set the picture on the nightstand. “Onto less heavy stuff, let’s see if you can beat my record. The only person who’s come close is Conner and that’s only because he was cheating.”

Stiles rolled up his sleeves. “I’ll take you up on that challenge.”

He, unfortunately, didn’t beat Tim’s record, but he did learn how competitive his new friend could be. Tim cracked out Monopoly after that, which ended in another defeat for him. He wasn’t really sure what he expected, Tim being the adopted son of an actual CEO and all.

Mr. Pennyworth, or Alfred as he insisted, had to drag them down for dinner. “Master Dick will be working late today. He will be back tomorrow..” Alfred set down plates of steaming stew in front of them.

“What does your brother do?”

“He’s a freelancer. He told me once that he worked as a model but I don’t really believe him. Right now he’s working for the Bludhaven Police Department.”

“That’s really cool.” He had wanted to be a police officer when he was younger, but now, he wasn’t sure what he wanted to do. His current plan involved winning the lottery or working with the FBI.

Stiles felt a wave of nervousness wash over him. He had been meaning to broach the subject of Vicki Vale with Tim all day; it never seemed like the right time.

“Tim, um, can we talk?”

“We’ve been talking all day.”

Stiles shook his head. “I meant can we _talk_ talk?”

Tim demeanor became serious. “Okay. Let’s finish the stew and we can talk in my room.”

Stiles slurped the last of his stew, told Alfred how delicious it was, and headed up the stairs after Tim. He sat on the bed while Tim closed the door. “I don’t really know where to start.”

Tim sighed. “Just start at the beginning.”

He fidgeted with the sheets. “I met a reporter. She gave me a file on Tom Dougherty; the cop my dad was accused of shooting.”

“She just gave it to you?” Tim asked.

“Sort of. Not really. I planned on giving it back.” Stiles held his head in his hands. “Tom was going to testify against Mario Falcone. I know he’s the head of the mob.”  

Tim shut his eyes, like he knew exactly what Stiles was thinking. “What are you going to do?”

Tim wasn’t going to like what he said next. “Fish Mooney. She was listed as a known associate. If anyone knows who framed my dad, then its her.”

“Do you expect her to just tell you?”

“I don’t. I need to get close enough so that she trusts me. Before you say anything, I know they’re dangerous; I’ll be careful.”

Tim walked over to the window. His shoulders were hunched over. “Infiltrating the mob? Are you even listening to yourself?”

Stiles felt anger bubble in his chest. It wasn’t like he’d come to the decision overnight. He’d spent hours looking over the file, finding no other option. The FBI was in Falcone’s pocket, along with an untold number of GCPD officers. Stiles couldn’t trust anyone, meaning that he had to take matters into his own hands.

“I have to do this.”

“No you don’t.” Tim said, raising his voice. “You don’t have to do anything! You have people that care about you. What are they going to do if you go off and get yourself killed?”

“I came to ask you for help. Can you please just look at me?”

Tim turned around, fire in his eyes. “Help! I won’t help you do this to yourself.”

“Fine.” Stiles said, his voice shaking. “I thought you of all people would understand.”

Stiles took his backpack from the bed and ran out of the room. Tim yelled after him, but he didn’t care to listen.  

Outside the manor, it was nightfall. Rain was still pouring, drenching him in seconds. He jogged aimlessly, wanting to be anywhere but there. The mud caked his shoes. He was alone in this, but he had hoped.

Exhaustion finally took over him and he slid down the first tree he found. He hugged his knees. Before they had left Beacon Hills, they promised to take care of each other. That it was just them now. He fully intended to keep his promise.

Stiles covered his eyes as a pair of headlights came into view. The rain blurred his vision, but he recognized Parrish’s uniform. “Hey, bud. Alfred said you were out here.”

“Leave me alone, Parrish.” Stiles slapped his hand away.

“No can do. Now let’s get you out of here.”

Parrish lifted him off the ground, bridal style, which he’d be more embarrassed about if he wasn’t so tired. His limbs were numb. He must have been out there longer than he thought.

“I don’t hate you, Parrish.” Stiles added as an afterthought.

“I know, Stiles.”

 

* * *

 

Stiles was sick for the rest of the week. Parrish had taken him to the doctor twice even though he was pretty sure it was just a cold.

“I talked to your dad’s attorney yesterday. They’ve set a date for your dad’s trial.”

“When?”

“After the new year.”

His heart felt heavy in his chest. He had two months. Two months before his dad’s case would go to trial.

“Have you talked to him?” Stiles asked, moving his food around with a fork.

“Yeah. He’s hopeful. Asks about you a lot.”

He raised his eyes to meet Parrish. “What did you tell him?”

“That you were doing good. Busy with your schoolwork.”

“Parrish, I-”

Parrish raised his hand to stop him. “You don’t have to explain anything to me, Stiles. I know it’s been a difficult time for you. Moving to Gotham, then this happens. I would be worried if it wasn’t affecting you.”

Stiles exhaled through his nose. “Just tell him. Just tell him I’ll see him soon.” He was a terrible liar. His dad would know exactly what he was up to and probably try to stop him. It was a distraction he didn’t need.

“He’ll be happy to hear that.” Parrish reached behind him and put an envelope on the table. “There’s an auction this Saturday. Bruce invited the both of us. Do you want to come?”

“I thought you had a girlfriend?” Stiles muttered under his breath.

“I am slightly offended Stiles. Brenda and I broke up a month ago. Which A, you would have figured out if you didn’t space out every time I talked to you.”

“I have ADHD.” Stiles waved his arms around. “ _Remember_?”

“I updated it on Facebook. Even Kevin from the station knows. I don’t even like Kevin.” Parrish said, exasperated.

He shrugged. “I don’t use Facebook. Scott tried to get me to use it, but I don’t see the point when all you do is like each other’s pictures.”

“You’re completely hopeless. So will you go?”

No was on the tip of his tongue, but the pleading in Parrish’s eyes made him reconsider. “Yes. I’ll be your plus one.”

“Maybe Tim will be there.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Stiles hadn’t seen much of Tim. When they passed each other in the halls, they didn't talk to each other. It really hurt. It hurt even more that he couldn’t tell anyone the real reason they had a falling out. Parrish had tried more than once to coax it out of him, but every time he wouldn’t budge. He’d be angry too if he knew.

His dad didn’t deserve to be in jail. If he had to run with criminals to find those responsible, then he would do so in a heartbeat. He couldn't lose his dad.

 

* * *

 

_Unknown location_

Jason was upside down when he woke up. A blinding light was aimed at his face. He’d been in a similar situation before, back when he was still Robin, except he had fallen from a rooftop and tangled his foot on a clothesline. He had been stupid, cocky, or both even. Bruce had come to the rescue as always with a batarang in hand.

Fuck him. He could save himself.

From what he could tell, they’d taken most of his weapons. His helmet, too.

‘It’s time for extreme measures,’ Jason thought to himself. He bit his upper lip and began to dislocate his fingers. It hurt like hell, but his hands would be free.

“You’re finally awake. I was beginning to worry.”

Jason swung around to face his captor. In the shadows, he could make out a figure standing across from him.

“You should be more worried about what I’m going to do to _you_.” He said, nearly frothing at the mouth. “When I get down from here, I’m going to rip you limb from limb!”

Jason could hear the man giggling which then turned into full blown laughter. “Limb from limb! Haha!”

He suddenly felt wrong. That laugh.

“You’re not wrong, baby bat.” The man said in a sing-song voice. Jason narrowed his eyes. “Are you afraid?“

The man stepped into the light, the white makeup and green hair unmistakable.

“You are not the Joker.” He growled. “Joker’s in Arkham.”

Not Joker waved a finger in front of his face. “Maybe I am.” His face changed, revealing a man with bandages. Then back to Joker. “Maybe I’m not.”

“Those metas. Do they work for you?”

“So many questions when it’s me who has all the cards.” Not Joker walked over to him and grabbed his chin. “Those _werewolves_ and I, we have similar interests.”

Jason nearly scoffed. “Werewolves?”

Not Joker pushed him to the side, causing him to swing violently. “Werewolves are very real but not always reliable. You’ve done me a favor, getting of rid of Sam. He was a liability.”

“What do you want?” Jason said after he stopped swinging.

“Too soon for that, baby bat.”

“Don’t fucking call me baby bat!” He yelled through clenched teeth.

"It's the symbol on your chest. What else should I call you?" Not Joker crouched down in front of him, looking straight into his eyes. "You know, they say the eyes are the windows to the soul."

Pain suddenly exploded in his head. A swirl of emotions overtook him. He was angry. No, he was afraid. Joker was going to hurt him. But Joker’s in Arkham. “What are you doing to me?”

“Why so serious, Jason?” He heard the familiar sound of a crowbar being dragged across the floor.

The hairs on the back of his neck were standing up. “J-Joker?”

“The one and only! Haha!“ The clown raised the crowbar.

Jason’s screams erupted throughout the warehouse.

 

* * *

 

_Batcave_

Dick’s bo staff met Bruce’s with a loud clack. They were both sweating. His muscles were aching.

He swung his staff again. Bruce ducked and kicked his legs out from under him. He landed hard on the mat.

“You've been improving, Dick.” Bruce wiped the sweat from his brow. “Or I’m getting too old. “

Dick chuckled. “I guess I’m just that good Bruce. Why did you invite me for training? Not that I mind. It’s nice to come home and see everybody.“

Bruce sat in front of the main computer. “Tim's friend, Stiles Stilinski. His father was framed for murder.”

“The guy all over national headlines. Cop on cop crime. You think he’s innocent?” Dick asked. When he heard about it in Bludhaven, he hadn’t given it a second glance.

“Yes.” Bruce tossed Dick a tape. “Something about this case isn't right, Dick. I talked to Vale. Tom Dougherty was a dirty cop who flipped on Falcone. This case is bigger than I thought.”

“What do you want me to do?” Dick asked.

“Get transferred to the GCPD. Find out who else is working for Falcone.”

He pocketed the tape. “How are you so sure about this? The police said it was airtight.”

“No man who loves his son as much as John Stilinski would risk getting sent to prison for the rest of his life.” Bruce turned in his chair. “A father knows.“

He knew that look. Bruce was dead set on something and nothing would change his mind. Dick grabbed his coat off the rack. He had work to do.

He stepped onto the elevator. When it opened, he found Tim waiting for him in the hall.

“Dick.”

“Hey, baby bro.” Dick wrapped his arms around Tim, who struggled under his grip.

“What are you doing here? Can we train?”

 Dick frowned. “Sorry. I have some police work to do in Bludhaven. Maybe next time. Then you can tell me all about your friends and school.”

Tim’s shoulders slumped. “Okay. I guess you’ll have to wait to see my kickass moves.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll be back sooner than you think.” And he would be once he talked to his superiors.

On his way to Bludhaven, thoughts circled around in his head. Bruce was worried which made him worry. Just who was this Stiles Stilinski?


	5. The Last Laugh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was supposed to feature Constantine, but it was getting a bit long. I decided to split the chapter, so chapter six will technically be chapter 5 part 2. Hope you enjoy and tell me what you think! :)

“I’m not wearing it.”

“Stiles, it’s a black-tie event. You have to wear it.”

“I like my plaid jacket.”

“Stiles-”

“No.“

“Yes.”

“No!”

Parrish took a deep breath. “If you wear it, then I'll give you your phone back.”

Stiles poked his head out from under the bed. “Give me the suit.”

Parrish smirked, leaving it on the bed. “Come on, we’re late. I got you a clip on because I know you suck at ties.”

Stiles crawled out from his hiding place and quickly got dressed. He stood in front of his bedroom mirror. The last time he'd worn a suit was for the winter formal in Beacon Hills. He had bared his heart to Lydia only for her to confess that the reason she went out with him was to appease Allison for kissing Scott. It had hurt at the time, getting rejected by his longtime crush, but he learned to push past it and settle for being good friends. When they talked on the phone, she gave him updates on what was happening in Beacon Hills. She didn't bring up his dad or ask why he was ignoring Scott's calls. She was an avid listener, never interrupting him and giving him advice where she could.

Sadly, tonight his date would not be the fiery redhead but the overprotective Parrish, who asked him to come to the auction so he could mend his relationship with Tim despite saying otherwise.

He put his hands together, imitating the famous British spy.

“The name's Stilinski. Stiles Stilinski.”

_“Stiles. We're late. Come down here.”_ Parrish's voice carried through the house on the police megaphone.

Stiles rushed out of the bedroom, grumbling about Parrish's abuse of police resources. He should get his own megaphone and see how he likes it at four in the morning.

Parrish was waiting outside; the cruiser was already running. He tossed Stiles his phone. “I know we’ve been having some problems, Stiles.” His hand lingered on the door. “I’m here for you, okay bud?”

Stiles pulled open the passenger door without saying a word. Parrish entered quietly, looking slightly disappointed when Stiles put in his headphones.

He knew he shouldn’t put Parrish through the ringer, but there was so much anger building up inside of him. Anger at his situation. At Parrish for caring so damn much. That Tim wouldn’t help him. He couldn’t help lashing out despite how unfair it was to Parrish.

They arrived an hour later due to horrendous traffic. They were running up the stairs two steps at a time. Three security guards were blocking the door.

“Hold it! Who are you two?”

Stiles pointed at their attire. “We were invited.“ Of all the people. Maybe he shouldn’t have put up such a fuss about the suit.

One of them smiled, his beady eyes making him uncomfortable. “Were you boy?”

Parrish slammed the invitations on the podium. “Look, Bruce Wayne invited us personally to the gala and auction. We were running late. If you want I can call Mr. Wayne himself and have him sort this out. So, if you don’t want me to do that, then kindly move out of the _fucking_ way.”

Stiles looked at Parrish with a new appreciation. With a flip of switch, Parrish adopted a cool and confident persona. It was kind of badass.

The man glared and stepped out of their way. As they hurried inside, Stiles looked over his shoulder. The man gave him a short wave, sending shivers down his spine.

They made it into the ballroom just in time to see the beginning of Mr. Wayne’s speech.

He scanned the audience and saw Tim standing near the front. He turned away, not wanting Tim to catch him staring.

“Good evening, fellow Gothamites. Tonight, we honor the men and women who defend our wonderful city. They are the true heroes of Gotham. In about an hour, the auction will begin after some dancing!”

Mr. Wayne raised his wine glass, eliciting a wave of applause.

Gentle music filled the ballroom and Stiles found himself gravitating towards the buffet. Stiles tried not to be embarrassed at Parrish’s sorry excuse for dancing.

“Hello, stranger.”

Stiles looked up from the plate of chocolate cake he was eating to see Barbara Gordon standing next to him. She was stunning in her red ball gown.

“Barbara! What are you doing here?” Stiles set down the plate and wiped his mouth. He remembered her from his many visits to the station.

Barbara rested a hand on his shoulder. “Relax, Stiles. My father is the commissioner, remember? I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

“About what?“ Stiles asked, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. “I mean- I’m not that interesting to talk to.”

Barbara had a solemn look. “Stiles. That’s not true at all. You’re such a good person. I wanted to give you this.” She handed him a card from her purse. ”There’s a support group for kids in your situation. In case you need someone to unload on.”

“Thanks. Um, I’ll keep it in mind.”

“Please do, Stiles. By the way, have you seen Dick Grayson around? Tall, dark, and somewhat handsome?”

“Tim’s brother?” Stiles asked.

“You know Tim?”

“Yeah, he and I are friends. Well, I think we're friends.“

Barbara put a hand under his chin, causing him to blush. “Try not to mope, Stiles. It doesn’t suit you. If you’ll excuse me, I have to find my boyfriend.”

Stiles gave her a half smile. “See, not moping. Just needed the right motivation.”

Barbara rolled her eyes. “I'll see you later.”

She disappeared into the crowd to find Dick. From behind, she reminded him of Lydia. Way out of his league.

“Ladies and gentlemen. The auction will be commencing shortly.”

A woman beckoned everyone over to the stage. Stiles was pushed to the front by the tide of guests. He tried to find his way to the back but stopped when he caught sight of Mr. Wayne walking to the podium.

Following Mr. Wayne was a group of men carrying in objects hidden by white sheets.

“I hope everyone's been enjoying their evening. We will start off this auction with a one of a kind painting done by the late Nico Lafayette.”

Mr. Wayne walked towards one of the hidden objects and pulled off the sheet, unveiling a beautiful painting of the French countryside.

The bidding began almost immediately. Excited hands shot in the air. As the price went up, Stiles’ head began to hurt at the thought of paying so much for a painting. It was nice but not thousands of dollars nice.

Stiles’ gaze wandered to the side of the stage, finding Tim standing there. He was also wearing a suit, a lot nicer than Stiles', watching the auction with visible interest.

Guilt wormed into his heart. Tim had been there for him since the day his father was arrested. Although Stiles stood firmly by his choice, he understood that their disagreement stemmed from Tim wanting to protect him.

He wrung his hands and made his way over to Tim. “I don’t know about you, but I thought Iron Man 2 sucked.”

“Well you’re entitled to your own opinion.” His face gave away no surprise. “I didn’t think you would come. You were out of school for a while.”

Stiles shrugged. “I tried to blame you when it wasn’t your fault. You were just trying to be my friend.”

“It’s okay, Stiles. I understand why you think you need to do it, but I want you to know you’re not alone. You have me, Parrish, and your dad.”

He felt a weight lift off his shoulders. Stiles turned back to the stage. “Your dad sure knows how to party.”

“Bruce likes this. Me, I hate parties.”

“ _Stiles_.”

Stiles looked at Tim. “Did you say something?”

Tim wasn't paying attention to him but scrolling through his phone. “I was going to show you the end credits for the new Ant Man movie. Totally bogus, right?”

Before he could respond, the front doors burst open. Two of the security guards from earlier were brandishing weapons.

The last one, the one that had put him on edge, came out from behind them. Gone was the security garb. He wore a purple suit and green vest. His hair was also green, and white makeup caked his face. His smile was the most terrifying. Two cuts extended from his mouth to his ears.

“I would say freeze, but it looks like you already have! Hahahaha!”

Whispers erupted from the crowd.

“The Joker!”

“Oh, no! Where’s Batman!”

“Someone help!”

Tim’s eyes searched the stage. Mr. Wayne was gone.

“Line up now you classy ladies and gents. Joker is here!”

Stiles stood frozen. He had heard stories about the Joker from the other officers at the GCPD. No one was safe when that clown was around.

“I know you're afraid. Just do as they say.” Tim said, nudging him towards the line beginning to form.

Stiles lined up behind the other guests. Joker’s crew were holding out bags, demanding their prized possessions. He spotted Parrish near the back. He was frantically peering left and right of the line until his eyes landed on Stiles, his shoulders sagging in some relief.

He watched as people threw in earrings, watches, rings, and money. Stiles rifled through his pockets. He came up with his phone, two dimes, and a nickel.  Stiles was royally screwed.

When it was his turn, he dumped the contents of his pockets into the bag with trembling hands. The bag didn't move. Stiles chanced a look at the thug. His face was pulled into an angry scowl as if he were personally insulted. He grabbed the front of his shirt. “I don’t want your chump change. Give us what we want!”

“I d-don’t have anything else.” He stuttered. He looked at Tim with pleading eyes.

“Here, take this!” Tim took off his watch and threw it into the bag. “That should be enough.”

“Not good enough.” Stiles was shoved out of line. He lost his balance and landed hard on his knees. The muzzle of a gun was put against his head. “Boss, this kid is holding out on us.”

“Leave him alone!” Parrish yelled from his place in line. He looked ready to charge like a bull in a ring.

“You try anything funny and I shoot him.”

Parrish looked at the gun and then Stiles. He stayed put, fists clenched tightly at his sides.

Joker danced his way over to them, twirling a knife in his hand. “Why so serious? We were getting along outside!”

Stiles’ eyes widened a fraction. Dread flooded his body. Tim stayed where he was, equally shocked.

“I don’t have any money.”

Joker laughed. “No money? I thought you were personally invited by Bruce Wayne. That makes you a very important boy.” He grabbed a fistful of Stiles’ hair. “I think ol’ Brucie would pay a great deal for you. We’ll have a good laugh.”

The gun pointed at him said otherwise. He closed his eyes, trying to will the whole ordeal away. The cold metal against his skin. The clown straight from his nightmares. His life flashing like a reel on a movie.

The sound of glass shattering broke him out of his trance. He opened his eyes only to see a dark figure enter the corner of his vision.

Joker seemed ecstatic at the new arrival. He let go of his hair and straightened out his suit. “Batsy, batsy. I knew you couldn't stay away for long.”

“Joker.” A gruff voice said.

All hell broke loose. Tim rushed the gunman. Stiles scrambled backwards on his hands. He could only watch as Tim wrestled for the gun. He twisted the man’s hand, bones snapping painfully. The gun clattered onto the floor and Tim punched the man square in the face. He fell like a plank of wood, falling unconscious.

“Where the hell did you learn to do that?”

Tim smirked. “I told you I was a good fighter.”

Stiles wasn’t sure if he should be amazed or terrified. He decided on a mixture of both. Tim helped him up from the floor. He turned his attention over to the Joker and Batman, because who else could it be dressed in a giant batsuit. Batman had thrown Joker into the buffet table. Guests were running away, trying to get to the exits. He scanned their faces for Parrish but couldn’t find him.

“Leaving so soon everyone? I brought souvenirs!”

Joker rolled a couple of canisters on the ground. Gas started to fill the ballroom.

Tim immediately put his sleeve to his nose and mouth. “Don’t breathe it in.”

Stiles copied him, but the gas was already making him lightheaded. “We have to find Parrish.”

“I need to get you out of here first. Then, I’ll come back to find him.”

Stiles shook his head. “No. I’m not leaving him behind.”

“Fine.” Tim relented. “But you stay behind me.”

Stiles coughed. “Behind you. Promise.”

He followed behind Tim, the gas making it hard to see. He caught glimpses of a black cape but no Parrish. Laughter filled the air but there was nothing humorous about it. Tim stopped abruptly. Stiles nearly slammed into him.

“What’s happened?”

“Stiles! Haha...Stiles!”

He pushed Tim out of the way. Parrish was laying on the ground. His eyes were bulging. His mouth was drawn into a painful smile.

Stiles dropped to his knees. “Parrish snap out of it.” He shook him hard. “Stop laughing!”

Tim put a hand on his shoulder. “We have to get him out of here now.”

Stiles grabbed Parrish’s arms and tried to move him. He got a few feet before his knees started to wobble. He swayed from the dizziness and collapsed. Tim caught him before he hit the ground.

“I can't. I can't.” He gasped. Stiles covered his mouth as a giggle tried to escape his throat. “Tim...Haha!”

“Look at me, Stiles! The gas is affecting you!” Tim slapped his cheeks. “Stay alert!”

“ _Stiles._ ”

It was the voice from his bedroom. It was softer than before.

“ _You gotta fight it baby._ ”

Through the fog he could see his mother. A white shine surrounded her body.

“Mom.” He called out, reaching a hand towards her.

“ _-fight it._ ”

Streaks of tears were falling from Tim’s face. “Stay with me, Stiles.”

 

* * *

    

When Stiles woke up, he had no idea where he was. His head was pounding from the bright lights and his bed was lumpier than he remembered. He tried to sit up, but a hand pushed him gently back down.

“Easy there.”

“Tim, where am I?” Stiles asked, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles. He stopped when he caught sight of the needle in his arm.

“Hospital. Two days now.”

Flashes of the gala flitted through his mind. His breath hitched. “Where’s Parrish?”

The machine next to him started to beep loudly.

“Calm down! The doctor said you were still weak.”

Stiles bit his lip and pulled out the IV. “I need to see him. He was hit with the gas, too. Tim. Tim, what’s wrong?”  

His friend pulled up a chair next to the bed. He looked conflicted about what to say. Stiles immediately knew something was wrong. “Parrish was exposed to a significant amount of Joker venom. The doctors tried everything they could.” Tim paused. “He’s in a coma, Stiles.”

It was like his dad all over again. He didn’t want to believe Tim, but he knew it was true from the look on Tim’s face.

Stiles swung his legs off the bed. “Take me to him.”

Tim hooked an arm around his waist and they walked into the hall. Stiles’ movements were slow and sluggish, but he forced himself to put one foot in front of the other. Parrish was in the ICU a floor below them. At the room door, Stiles hesitated. It took all his strength to push it open.

Tim waited outside for which he was grateful for. Parrish was lying on the bed, his face as white as the sheets. The strained smile from two nights ago was replaced with a more relaxed expression.

He was hooked up to all sorts of machines that beeped and hummed. Stiles took Parrish’s hand and gave it a light squeeze. His eyes watered. “I’m sorry, Parrish. I was horrible. You didn’t deserve any of it.” He sniffled. “I’ll be waiting for you when you wake up. Me and dad. You’ll see.”

Parrish remained still showing no signs of hearing him. His heart dropped. His life changed in an instant, and Stiles wanted nothing more than to turn back the clock. He wished he’d been nicer. He wished he’d told Parrish how much he meant to him. But it was too late. Every chance he had was cruelly snatched away from him.

A knock sounded on the door and Tim peeked into the room. “Hey, Stiles. Bruce wanted to talk to you.”

Stiles let go of Parrish’s hand. It fell limply back onto the bed. He rose from Parrish’s side and walked towards the door. He gave a parting glance in Parrish’s direction before leaving the room.

Mr. Wayne was standing in the hall. His hair was disheveled unlike the other times they had met. He sat himself in one the plastic chairs in the hall and gestured for Stiles to sit. “I know Parrish is a close family friend and recently he became your guardian. Tim and I, we want to offer you a place to stay.”

Stiles took a deep breath. “What’s the alternative?”

“Foster care.”

He felt a familiar tightness in his chest. His family was gone. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You could say yes.”

“I-yes. Thank you, Mr. Wayne.”

“Bruce. You can call me Bruce.”

Stiles smiled. “Thank you, Bruce.”

 


	6. The World Will Come to an End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is Chapter 6 (Chapter 5 Part 2)! It's super short compared to the other chapters, but I just wanted it to focus on Constantine and the other JLD members. Let me know if anything is too confusing because it is my first time working with a big plot. Enjoy! :)

John Constantine was not happy. In between battling demons and trying to avoid damnation, he liked to meditate. Ever since the House of Mysteries decided to give itself a body, he never got any peace and quiet because she kept popping up everywhere.

“Orchid do you mind keeping quiet for five minutes!”

Orchid blinked innocently, broom in hand. “That wasn't me John. You have a guest.” She said in a monotone voice.

He huffed angrily, clapping his hands together. “Well, who the hell is it?”

“ _Tel em ni!”_

The doors flew open. Constantine stumbled backwards. He saw a flash of purple, and he was lifted off the ground.

“John!”

“Hello, love.” Constantine smirked, dangling his feet in the air. “Mind putting me down?” Zatanna had a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Hey, Zee. Now you just wait one bloody minute!”

She flicked her wrist. “ _Tup mih nwod.”_

Constantine dropped, landing hard on the hardwood floor. “Oi that hurt! What are you doing here? Last time I checked, you didn't want to see me anymore.”

Zatanna blushed. “I'm not here about that.” She sat down on the futon. “We need to talk.“

“What makes you think I want to listen?” Constantine snarked. He wiped the dirt from his pants. Orchid helped him up.

“Because a lot of people will be in danger.“

Constantine felt the mood change in the room. “I’m listening then.”

“There has been a rise in sightings of supernaturals across the states. Vampires. Werewolves. Witches. It's become too much for the League.”

Constantine sighed, rubbing his temples. “You know I don't like this teamup thing happening here. Especially when it comes to Deadman.”

“Just you and me.“ Zatanna stood up, her hands glowing. A map materialized in the air. “I've been tracking the activity.”

Dots illuminated on the map. Constantine raised an eyebrow, tracing the map with his finger. “This goes from Beacon Hills to-”

“Gotham.” Zatanna finished. “Something is attracting these creatures. We need to investigate.“

Constantine winced. “And the Batman? Are we good for going on his turf?”

“Of course.”

“Well then let's get started.” He sat crisscross on the floor, gesturing for Zatanna. “Are you going to join me?”

Zatanna rolled her eyes and plopped herself next to him. They put their hands together.

“John, message from-”

“Not now Orchid!”

Orchid frowned and stomped out of the room. She looked at the letter in her hand.

_Urgent: Message to John Constantine_

_From: Madame Xanadu_

 

* * *

 

 Gotham was bad enough with all the regular criminals, not that Joker or Riddler were normal in any way. Mix in rogue werewolves and other supernatural baddies, the city was downright dangerous.

Zatanna was worried about the bigger picture. If something was drawing them to Gotham, then it had to be powerful.

“Zee love, how much longer?”

 Zatanna had her arm extended, looking at the map. They were approaching the epicenter of the activity. “Whatever it is, its leading here.“

Constantine looked up at the warehouse. Its windows were broken, and the paint was chipped in several places. It was all very creepy.

“Definitely looks the part.“

Zatanna snorted, turning her head to Constantine. “Good cause we’re going in.”

Constantine frowned, following wearily behind her. He readied himself too, hands flashing yellow.  “I have a bad feeling about this Zee.”

Too late. Zatanna raised both hands at the doors. “ _Nepo srood!”_

The doors flew open, darkness welcoming them both. They stepped into the dreary warehouse. Constantine’s face contorted as a rank smell assaulted them. Something wasn’t right.

 She lit the way. As they walked farther into the warehouse, she began to feel something sinister in the air. She looked at Constantine, his expression equally grim. “Whatever’s here, it’s evil. Be on your guard-”

Zatanna collapsed, her eyes rolling to the back of her head. Images flashed through her mind. Blood. Burning cities. Bodies.

 

Zatanna awoke to a world on fire. She walked through the ashes; bodies were all around her.

“John!” She shouted into the void. No answer. She had to be under the influence of a vision. “Hello?” Zatanna yelled, fear lacing her voice.

_“Zatanna.”_  A weak voice called out. Zatanna turned; the bodies were beginning to move. She stepped back as they rose. They were zombies.

She felt a hand grasp her arm. She turned quickly, facing her attacker.

Zatanna let out a gasp. “F-Father.”

Her father smiled. Then his face quickly deformed. His skin turned ashen and his cheeks became gaunt. Her father’s eyes glazed over, and he lunged at her.

She tried to free herself, but more hands were grabbing onto her. She fell to the ground, bodies toppling over her. “Help!”

“Zatanna!”

A flash of light lit the air, a hand held onto hers. “Hold on!”

In an instant, the bodies were gone. She was free. Zatanna looked around, the images long gone, replaced by a modest office setting. Madame Xanadu, an old friend of her father’s, was sitting at her desk. Beside her was Rac Shade, a member of the Justice League Dark, in his teleporting M-Vest.

“Welcome back Zatanna.”

“Madame Xanadu.” Zatanna sighed in relief. She paused, instantly remembering. “John! We have to go back.”

“Constantine was gone when I came for you.” Shade said. “Even if I wanted to go back, I can’t. My strength isn’t fully restored since our encounter with Enchantress.”

Xanadu picked up her tarot cards. “John will be fine. We have other pressing matters.”

“No!” Zatanna’s anger flared. “I brought him there. I sensed something evil; it must have him. We can’t abandon John!”

“The world as we know it will come to an end.” Xanadu grimly looked at her. “I have seen this world Zatanna. Whatever took him, it is no ordinary creature. You must not encounter it alone. It will be the end of you.”

“What do we do then?” John was still at the warehouse. Who knows if this creature would kill him? “John may not be the best, but he’s part of this team.”

Xanadu looked away. “Yes, we will not abandon him, but he is not in imminent danger yet. We will rescue him when we are prepared.“

Zatanna narrowed her eyes. “And how will we do that?”

“We will seek the Batman. The answer lies with him.“

 

* * *

 

 “Ughhh.”

Constantine opened his eyes, and he was met with darkness. He pushed himself into a sitting position; the back of his head was throbbing. He touched it carefully, his hand coming back wet and sticky.

Blood. Some bastard must have struck him.

“Zee!"

He scanned the room. There was no sign of movement. The last thing he remembered was Zatanna collapsing. Something had caught his attention in the shadows. He went after it and then...nada.

He rubbed his head. It was all so confusing.

“B-Bruce.”

The voice was weak. John strained his eyes in the dark, trying to find where it was coming from. “Where are you?”

“Bruce.”

Constantine raised his arms, illuminating the room. A young man was sitting against the wall opposite from him. His face was swollen and covered in blood. One of his eyes were completely shut. This man had taken a beating. John walked over and knelt in front of him. He held the young man’s face in his hands, feeling sympathy for the poor bastard.

“What's your name lad?“ The man’s eyes widened, and he began to thrash violently, knocking Constantine’s hands away. “No! No! Don’t hurt me! Batman is coming! Leave me alone!”

Constantine raised an eyebrow. The man was raving mad. “Lad, we’re trapped in a warehouse. Someone’s kidnapped you.”

The man writhed. “J-Joker! He hurt me! Batman is coming!”

Constantine sighed, shaking his head. He couldn’t do much for him but make him more comfortable. He held onto the chains and tried a spell. Pain shot through his arm. He turned it over and saw runes etched onto his skin. “Bollocks!”

Any big spells would probably kill him. Constantine scanned the room again. There was a small window and a door. Both were probably enchanted. “Look, I’ll figure out a way to save us.“

A ghostly hand touched him on the shoulder. “I’m not sure you can save yourself.”

Constantine shivered. “You lot are here, too.” The ghosts filled up the space of the room. The faces of everyone he’s failed. “Sod off. I don’t need your judgement.”

Gary Lester, one of his more recent ghosts, shook his head. “We are not here to judge, Constantine. We are here to help.”

He stood up to face them. “If you can magically open doors, then I’m all yours.”

“I can’t open the door, but I can tell you that we are no longer in the same location as before.”

“Where are we then Gaz?” Constantine asked.

“Same warehouse. Different location. We’re now near Gotham Harbor.”

“That’s halfway across the city!” Constantine grabbed his head in frustration. To move an entire warehouse needed the strength of a whole team of magicians. Zatanna would have a hard time finding him and using his magic to escape was out of the question.

“Batman’s coming.” The man whispered again, curling into himself.

He sat next to the man, resting his head on the brick wall. “I hope the Bats finds us, too.”

 

* * *

 

 Shade opened the portal, Xanadu and Zatanna following close behind. “I’m limited to short distances. Try to make this meeting quick. “

Zatanna nodded stepping out onto the rooftop. Xanadu peered around. “Where is the Batman?”

Zatanna smirked. “He’s here.“

The caped crusader stepped out from the shadows. “What are you doing here Zatanna?”

Zatanna stepped forward. “Constantine has been captured by someone here in Gotham. Someone very powerful.”

Xanadu stood next to her. “The League has never faced such a monster. It will destroy humankind as we know it. “

Batman folded his arms. “Tell me everything.”


	7. 50/50

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is going to have a time skip. If anyone is interested about the time in between, then I would be happy to write small stories about Stiles' time at Wayne manor. Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think! :)

_A month later_

 

Stiles sat on his bed, holding a picture frame in his hands. It was the day they bought their house. His dad was on the left holding the sold sign proudly against his chest. To the right was Parrish, who had a deeply annoyed look on his face. Stiles was crouched between the two, making the silliest face he could think of.

It seemed so long ago. Stiles placed the photo back on the nightstand. He could hear the party going on downstairs. Another holiday without them.

A knock disrupted his thoughts. “Hey, Tim said you were up here.” Dick was holding a plate of desserts. “I thought you’d like some company.”

“I don’t want to take you away from Barbara.”

“Babs won’t mind.” Dick sat on the bed. “So what’s up?”

Stiles stared at the floor. “I miss my family. My dad’s spending New Year’s in jail. Parrish is still in the hospital. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve this.”

Dick put an arm around his shoulder. “You haven’t done anything wrong, Stiles. Bad things have happened to you. None of which were in your control no matter how much you wanted them to be.”

“How do you cope with it? How do all of you?” Stiles asked. Their histories were all wracked with tragedies. Loss after loss.

“I try to live the life my parents would have wanted me to have. I have Babs, Bruce, Alfred, and Tim to support me. You have us.” Dick ruffled his hair. “Are you ready to go see the fireworks? I know Tim’s been waiting to see them with you.”

Stiles nodded and followed Dick downstairs. The party had moved outside. As soon as he saw them, Tim waved them over to his spot on the lawn.

“You should see what Barbara has done to the dogs.”

“Knowing Babs, it’s nothing good.” Dick said before he went off to find his girlfriend.

Stiles looked over to Ajax and Ace, who were sporting matching red ribbons. “Oh my god. It’s adorable.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Of course you would find that adorable.” He looked at his watch. “It’s almost time.”

Stiles craned his neck towards the sky as everyone counted down. Three. Two. One.

“Happy New Year!” Everyone shouted. Alfred set off the first round of fireworks, illuminating the manor from above.

A new year. So much had happened in the last couple of months. He lost his dad and then Parrish.

Now there was Tim and his family. After coming home from the hospital, Bruce had moved him immediately into the manor. He was more than shocked to say in the least. It wasn’t every day that a billionaire became your guardian.

Bruce was a good man. He did, however, have an image problem in the media. He was labeled as a playboy. Irresponsible. Extreme sports enthusiast. But Stiles knew that wasn't true. Under the facade, Bruce was a simple family guy. He lived for his kids. Sure, he was gone most nights but that didn't bother him.

Dick, who he had met at Christmas, was not what he was expecting. He was the epitome of a big brother. He immediately took a liking to Stiles, taking him under his wing. Stiles was the Luke Skywalker to his Obi-wan.

Tim, on the other hand, was definitely Leia. Or Han, the trusty sidekick. He proved just as loyal, covering for him when they broke a 300-year-old vase.

Life at Wayne Manor was never boring. Stiles and Tim always had something to do. If it wasn’t anything mischievous, then they were playing video games. Sometimes Dick joined as their third player when he wasn’t busy.

As he got closer to the Wayne family, he could help but be reminded of Scott. He missed him a lot, but their relationship had been rocky over the past few months. Last time he had talked to Scott, he was dealing with some crazy Darach lady.

“Did you enjoy the fireworks?” A voice asked from behind them.

Stiles jumped and held a hand to his chest to calm his racing heart. “Bruce! You almost gave me a heart attack.”

Bruce raised his hands in mock surrender. “No harm intended. I just wanted to talk to Stiles about something.”

“I guess I’ll get out of your way then.” Tim said. “Don’t take too long. We’re going to light some sparklers later.”

“We won’t. I’ll have him back before you know it.”

Bruce made his way towards the manor, Stiles close on his heels. He led them to the quiet of his study.

“This time of year is always hard when you’ve lost so much.” Bruce walked over to his desk, picking up an old newspaper. “When my parents died, I spiraled out of control. I tried to find their killer, but all I found were dead ends. I felt helpless and lost.”

He handed Stiles the newspaper. It was torn at the edges but still in good condition. The front page had a picture of Martha and Thomas Wayne standing in front of an orphanage. Stiles had driven by it with Parrish before. “They built this place?”

“It was my mother’s project. She was a philanthropist. She donated to many charities and organizations.” Bruce walked over to the portrait of his parents. “I realized that I needed to find a purpose, and that purpose was bettering Gotham.”

Stiles put the newspaper back on the desk. “Are you telling me to give up on my father?”

“No.” Bruce said. “But I can see that it’s consuming you. The bags under your eyes tells me you haven’t been sleeping. Alfred’s also found a board under your bed with all your research about the case. You can’t let this be your entire life. There has to be other things that get you out of bed in the morning.”

Stiles let Bruce’s words sink in. He could see where he was coming from. Spending time with Tim and his family had been a nice distraction, but the events from the past couple of months had stayed in the back of his mind. A nagging sensation that only seemed to grow in strength. As much as he would have liked to focus on other things, he couldn’t. Not when his dad was in prison, and not when he was the only one who knew what was truly behind it.

 

* * *

 

New Year’s came and went; his father’s court date had finally arrived.

Stiles paced in his room, holding a blue striped tie in his hand. “Okay. You can do this.”

He put the tie around his neck. Over and under. And, uh, he messed up. “ _Grhhh._ ”

“Oh, dear. I believe that’s too tight.” Alfred came rushing over and helped him loosen it. “Here, allow me. I found that an easy mnemonic always does the trick.”  He straightened the tie around his neck, one side was shorter than the other one. “Now repeat after me. The rabbit bounded away with the fox snapping at his cottontail.” Stiles giggled at the ridiculousness of it all. Alfred hushed him and continued. “Once around the tree, the fox chased the rabbit.” Alfred wrapped the long side over the short side. “Twice around the tree, they ran.” He wrapped it over again. “The rabbit scooted under a bush, away from the fox.” Into the hole. “The little rabbit got away and dove right into the safety of his cool, dark hole.” Alfred adjusted the tie with a small smile. “And done. Master Bruce is waiting for you downstairs.”

“What if I told you I’m not ready, Alfred?” His nerves were starting to tear him apart.

“We are never ready for anything, Master Stiles. You must do the things you think you cannot do.”

“Did you come up with that all by yourself?”

“Eleanor Roosevelt. It does not make it any less true.”

“Smart lady.”

 

* * *

 

Stiles twiddled with his thumbs anxiously as the limo turned the corner. Bruce gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “It’ll be okay.”

Bruce meant well, but he wasn’t sure if it would be okay. Reporters were crowding the entrance, ready to attack them when they came out. Alfred opened the car door, pushing people out of the way. He saw a familiar face in the crowd.

“Out of the way! Let them through!” Dick was wading through the sea of reporters. He gestured for Stiles and Bruce to follow. They went through quickly, Bruce covering Stiles with his coat.

When they finally entered the courthouse, Stiles was relieved. Bruce had kept his cool throughout the whole ordeal, but he knew he was equally upset. He guided him through the courtroom, which was surprisingly full of people. He hardly recognized any of them.

He scanned the room; his dad’s seat was empty. Stiles sat with Bruce near the front.

“All rise. This court is now in session, the Honorable Judge Gonzalez presiding.”

The judge entered through a side door and took a seat at the front bench. He wore a stern expression on his face. He banged the gavel on the block. “The defendant may be brought in.”

Stiles gripped the edge of his seat. His dad walked in behind the bailiff, eyes trained on the floor. He was wearing a suit unlike the last they had met. His hair was longer, and he looked tired. For a brief second, their eyes met. His dad stood a little straighter. Guilt washed over him. In the past month, Stiles had not visited once. He had called his dad at Christmas and New Year’s, but he couldn’t bring himself to see him in person, fearing the reality that would come to pass if all failed.

His dad took a seat next to his attorney Malcolm Davies. He was a hotshot lawyer, who was charismatic and had a long track record of winning cases. He’d met him once before New Year’s; they’d gone over the trial and what to expect. On the outside he seemed arrogant to most, but Malcolm had taken great care of his father’s case.

Malcolm stood to make his opening statement. “Your Honor and ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the prosecution would have you believe that John Stilinski is guilty for a crime as heinous as murder. But today, we shall prove otherwise. First, Detective Roman Garcia, an unbiased government official who examined the defendant, will testify to the lack of gunpowder residue on Mr. Stilinski and the lack of a murder weapon tying him to the crime. The evidence in total will show that he was nowhere near the crime scene. He was picking up his son at Gotham Academy like any good father.”

The judge rested his gavel and gestured towards Malcolm. “The defense may call its first witness.”

Malcolm straightened out his papers. “The defense calls Detective Roman Garcia.”

The detective trudged through the narrow aisle, taking off his hat when he reached the stand. The bailiff brought forward the Bible and swore in Det. Garcia.

Malcolm cleared his throat, approaching the stand. “Detective Garcia, after your examination of the defendant, did you find any gunpowder residue on his hands or his sleeves?"

Det. Garcia shook his head. "No, I did not."

"And was the murder weapon found at the scene of the crime or on Mr. Stilinski's person?"

"No."

Malcolm clapped his hands together. "I have no more questions for this witness. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the only things tying Mr. Stilinski to the crime is the video surveillance footage from a convenience store across the park and two witnesses who claimed to have seen Mr. Stilinski shoot the victim and drive away; one of the witnesses was Officer Dougherty's partner Jacob Lansky.

Now my question for you is about the man in the video, how certain are we that it was John Stilinski? For all we know this is a man who looks remarkably like the defendant. The same thing could be asked about the witness testimonies. Could this be a case of mistaken identity? I call my next witness, Officer Jacob Lansky."

Stiles took a shuddering breath, amazed by Malcolm's way with words. It shocked him how close to the truth Malcolm was, but he was wrong about one thing. It wasn’t another man; it was a supernatural creature.

Officer Lansky came to the witness stand. Malcolm walked over to the jury. "Officer Lansky, can you tell us what you saw that day?"

Officer Lansky cleared his throat. "I was coming out of the convenience store and I saw Mr. Stilinski pointing a gun at the patrol car. He shot twice and then fled."

"So, you saw all this from the convenience store?"

"Yes."

"The convenience store that was a good distance away from the patrol car."

"I know what I saw."

Malcolm pointed to the back of the courtroom. "Who is that man sitting in the back to the far right?"

Officer Lansky squinted. "Um, that's...how am I supposed to know?"

"You don't recognize your superior, Commissioner James Gordon?"

Gasps filled the courtroom. "I'm just tired."

"Or maybe, you didn't see what you thought you saw that day. No further questions."

“Will the prosecution wish to cross examine?” Judge Gonzalez asked.

“No, your honor.” The prosecutor, Ms. Vaughn said. "We ask for a 15-minute recess? I think we all need a break.”

“Granted. Court is in recess.”

Stiles looked at Bruce, who had a pleased smile on his face. Malcolm was a good attorney, and his confidence was contagious. For the first time in months, he felt like something was going right.

 

* * *

 

Stiles sank back into his seat, drying the water he had splashed onto his face with his sleeve. He had been in the bathroom for most of the 15 minutes trying to calm himself down.

“The prosecution may call its first witness.”

“The prosecution calls Commissioner James Gordon.” Ms. Vaughn said with a smirk.

Stiles' eyes widened a fraction. Jim came down the aisle; Stiles scooted to the edge of the bench. “Why are you doing this?” He whispered harshly. Jim was his dad’s friend. He felt a little betrayed that he was going to testify for the prosecution.

“They subpoenaed me, Stiles. I have to testify.”  

And that was it. Jim was sworn in. Ms. Vaughn readied herself. “Commissioner Gordon is it true that the morning of the murder, John Stilinski and Tom Dougherty were involved in an argument.”

“Uh, yes.”

Stiles’ eyes flickered over to his dad. He held his head in his hands.

“What was this argument about?”

“John, Officer Stilinski I mean, was upset that Officer Dougherty had released a man from custody. He believed there was enough evidence to keep him there.”

“Did they argue a lot?”

“They had disagreements. Like any of my other officers.”

Ms. Vaughn shook her head. “Yes or no, commissioner.”

Jim sighed. “Yes, they argued often.”

“They disliked each other. Another question for you. When you hired the defendant, were you aware that he was diagnosed with PTSD.”

Stiles clenched his teeth. How dare she?

“Yes. He had disclosed that to me before he began working for the GCPD.”

“Is that not a risk?”

“Officer Stilinski was interviewed by multiple psychologists before he was allowed to work for the department. They all deemed him fit for duty.”

Malcolm slammed the table in front of him. “How is this relevant?”

“I am trying to assess Mr. Stilinski’s mental state at the time of the murder.”

Judge Garcia put his hands together. “I’ll allow it. Tread carefully Vaughn.”

“Thank you. Under what conditions was Mr. Stilinski allowed to work for the department?”

“That he receives treatment.”

Ms. Vaughn picked up a piece of paper from her table. “I have an affidavit from his current psychiatrist that by the time the murder took place, Mr. Stilinski had missed three appointments. I don’t believe that is someone who is seeking treatment, do you?”

“I’m assuming that was a rhetorical question, Ms. Vaughn.”

“You assumed correctly. Commissioner could Mr. Stilinski have been mentally impaired at the time of the murder?”

“He isn’t a doctor, your Honor.”

“I’m asking his opinion. Do you think he could have been mentally impaired?”

Jim closed his eyes. “Yes.”

“Dad.” Stiles held himself.

“Stiles, do we need to go?” Bruce asked.

Stiles shook his head.

“I don’t think that it's a stretch to say that the defendant’s mental state and the argument that morning were factors that could have pushed Mr. Stilinski over the edge, making him do something that he never would have done. The prosecution rests.”

“We’re leaving.”

Despite Stiles’ weak protests, Bruce pulled him out of the courtroom. He glanced one last time at his dad, who was looking back at him with worry in his eyes. He couldn’t handle it. He couldn’t handle any of it.

“Alfred’s got the car ready. I’m surprised you lasted that long.”

“Me, too.” He was mentally and physically exhausted. Malcolm’s confidence, it wasn’t so contagious now.

 

* * *

         

Stiles sat on his bed, holding a duffel bag across his lap and a phone in his hand.

Fifty-fifty. Fifty-fifty that Malcolm could get an innocent verdict. Odds that Stiles couldn’t live with.

He dialed a number he hadn't dialed in a long time. The phone rang. _"Hello?"_

"Scott."

_"Stiles!"_

"I-" Stiles bit down on his fist. "Hi, buddy."

_"Hi to you too."_ Scott choked out. _"I've been worried about you."_

"I know, I know. You're my best friend. I should have called more, but I knew that if I did I wouldn't be able to hide anything. I'm losing my mind, and everything's gone to shit."

_"Let me help you, Stiles."_

"You can't. I'm only calling because I'm about to do something stupid and I needed to set things straight. You're my best bro. You always will be."

_"Stiles, don't do anything yet! I can be there-"_

He hung up before Scott could get in another word. Stiles looked at the picture on the nightstand.

“You’d be very disappointed in me. Both of you would. Bruce and his family, they’ve been very good to me. Took me in when I had no one. For a month, it felt like I had a family again. But I have to do this. I have to find out the truth because no one else will.”

Stiles stood and walked over to his desk. He pulled out a sheet of paper and began to write. When he was done, he strapped the duffle bag across his shoulder and put the letter under a heavy paperweight.

Alfred was moving around downstairs. He pushed the bedroom window open.

"Goodbye Wayne Manor."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Alfred's mnemonic. I borrowed it from Rabbit and the Fox by Sybrina (https://www.instructables.com/id/Learn-To-Tie-A-Tie-With-The-Rabbit-And-The-Fox-1/).


	8. The Name's Derek

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UPDATE: Right now I'm finishing some finals but I have chapters 9 & 10 planned for December. Thank you for reading and happy holidays!
> 
> In this chapter we get to see what Stiles and the Batfamily are up to. Any translations in the chapter were taken from google translate. Sorry if it's inaccurate. Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think. :)
> 
> Edit: I edited the chapter a little to make it more cohesive.

An alert from the computer drew his attention away from Stiles when they arrived back at the manor. Manbat was wreaking havoc in downtown Gotham. By the time he returned, a letter was waiting for him.

“Has he not returned, sir?” Alfred asked. He stood in the doorway of the bedroom, a pained look on his face.

“No he hasn’t,” Bruce said. “I don’t think he will. Not until he’s done.”

Alfred walked over to the bed and began to peel off the sheets.

“He’s been gone for three weeks. You don’t have to-"

“I must, Master Bruce. So it will be ready for when the young sir returns.”

Bruce helped his butler with the pillows. “I’ll keep him safe out there. I promise you, Alfred.”

 

* * *

 

 Stiles always slept with his duffel bag tucked safely under his arm. Gotham was a finders keepers kind of city. He learned that the first night when his shoes were stolen right off his feet.

“ _Robbery in progress at Gotham Jewelers. Two males. Armed.”_

Stiles put the radio in his pocket and waited. A moment later, the men burst through the back entrance, bags of jewelry hefted over their shoulders. They raised their guns when they spotted him.

“ _Ne strelyayte_ (Don’t shoot) _!_ ” Stiles shouted. He picked up a bit of Russian at the library; his pronunciation wasn’t very good, but it got the job done. They looked at each other and then back at Stiles. “I’m a friend.” He pointed to himself. “ _Druk._ A friend.”

The piercing sound of police sirens caused them all to freeze. The shorter of the two advanced towards him, gun still held firmly in his hand. “Will you help us?”

“Sergei…” The other said warningly.

“Will you help us or no?”

“Yes.” Stiles cocked his head in the direction of the sirens. “Or you can take your chances with them.”

Sergei lowered his gun. “Lead the way. _Friend_.”

Stiles turned on his heel and darted down the alley into the streets of Gotham. He memorized the route beforehand, taking shortcuts wherever he could. The cops were hot on their trail.

Three weeks ago, he wasn't planning on helping Russian jewel thieves escape from the law.  However, after staking out Fish Mooney's club, the idea sprung to mind. Most of the club's patrons had ties to the crime syndicates of Gotham: the Russians, the Yakuza, and the Italians. If he was to get anywhere near Mooney, then he needed to get a footing in Gotham’s criminal network. The Russians were definitely a start. From what he heard, they were particularly interested in large, shiny jewels. All he had to do was pick a place and wait.

Stiles skidded to a stop as they approached a dead end.

“What do we do now?”

“Give me a boost.” He said, motioning to the fire escape ladder.

Sergei made a frustrated noise and handed his bag over to his partner. “Take it Dimitri.”

Sergei put his hands together. Stiles stepped on and reached for the ladder. With a sharp tug, it came sliding down.

They climbed up the fire escape and ran across the rooftop. He checked his watch; a police helicopter was bound to show. Sergei and Dimitri jumped to the next building while Stiles stood frozen at the edge.

He knew that he had to jump, but when he looked down, Stiles only saw himself breaking every bone in his body.

“What are you fucking waiting for?”

“I’m coming all right!” Stiles took a deep breath and a few steps back. It was just him, the gap, and the sound of his heart thumping in his ears. He didn’t think; he acted. The concrete disappeared from under him, and for a split second, he was flying.

The ledge of the other building came up faster than expected. He landed on solid ground, but before he could celebrate, he lost his balance. Gravity pulled him backwards and Stiles was left grasping at nothing but air.

He felt someone yank the front of his shirt and pull him upright. “Keep up, friend. You are the one helping us, no?” Sergei said.

Stiles nodded, eyes wide. “Thanks. For that. What you did.”

“I did not do it for you.”

“Course you didn’t. Um, let’s get moving, then.”

He led them from rooftop to rooftop. The gaps were wide and dizzying; he squashed down any feelings of unease. He couldn’t afford it.

“STOP! GCPD!”

A shot rang out nearby. Stiles covered his head but kept running. “Sergei are they still following us?”

“ _Nyet.”_

“Good cause we’re here.” He threw himself off the ledge and onto the fire escape. The window of an apartment he scoped out earlier was propped open. The family was on vacation for the rest of the month. After everyone was inside, he shut it closed. They were safe.

However, his relief didn’t last long. Dimitri pinned him against the wall. Sergei approached him with his arms crossed across his chest. “Not that I am not grateful, but who are you?“

Stiles squirmed under Dimitri’s grip. Sergei looked closely at his face. He then stepped back. “Did Alexei send you? I have never seen you before. _”_

"Or are you with Falcone?" Dimitri asked accusingly. "He can't even speak Russian correctly. He could be a spy, Sergei."

Stiles shook his head vigorously. “No, I’m not! My mother was part Russian, and I could only pick up a bit of the language.” It was a complete lie. He was Polish, but he wasn’t telling Sergei that.

“Shut up!“ Sergei snapped. “Your name, boy?”

He really, really wished people would stop calling him boy. “Derek. Derek Hale.“ Stiles spit out. “I may not be a complete Russian, but you can use someone like me."

Sergei flicked his hand and Dimitri let go of Stiles. “Well Mr. Hale, I am in no need of a scrawny twig like you.”

Stiles patted down his shirt. “I’m quick and resourceful. I’ve proved it already.“

A deep laugh reverberated throughout the room. “Do you hear that, Dimitri? He proved it. We were almost shot you fool.” He heard a click and a gun was pointed between his eyes. “Sorry but I cannot let you leave after seeing our faces.”

Stiles raised his hands, a gold watch hanging from his fingers. “This is just a preview of what I can get you; it’s not just gold watches. I can get you something even better. Give me a chance.”

He only hoped Bruce didn't mind him using his Christmas present as a bargaining chip.

The man lowered his gun. “Why should I believe you? You're all talk.”

Stiles handed over the watch. “I want to join you guys. I can prove that I can be a valuable asset. I'm willing to do anything.”

Sergei inspected the watch and after some thought stowed away his weapon. Dimitri shook his head. “Sergei, we can’t trust-”

“Not now, Dimitri. I can see the Russian in you, boy. You're very determined. If you can get me something better than this, then I’ll consider mentioning you to the boss.”

This was his in. One step closer to finding out who framed his dad.

“Deal.”

 

* * *

 

“Why the transfer, Dick?”

“I wanted to be closer to home. Been away too long.” While Bruce’s request was the reason for his return, he actually missed being at the manor. Hanging out with Tim. Alfred’s witty banter. Patrolling the streets with Bruce.

“Well, everything’s in order. I know you grew up here Dick, but I hope you know that Gotham’s a whole ‘nother can of worms. No offense, son.”

“I understand, sir. I just want to thank you again for the opportunity.”

Jim produced a badge and a gun from his desk. “I don’t think I have to tell you that once you wear this badge, you represent not only the GCPD but also myself. So I expect great things from you, Dick.”

Dick held the badge in his hand. “I won’t disappoint you, sir.”

“I know you won’t. You’re a good man, and you treat my daughter well. I’m glad she’s picked you.”

Dick felt a surge of pride. “I’m glad she did, too.”

Jim stood from his chair and walked towards the doors. “I think it’s time I introduced you to your new partner.”

Dick followed Jim onto the main floor. Officers were bustling about, some enjoying a coffee break while others were bringing in the catch of the day.

Jim pointed to a red headed woman sitting on top of a desk with her legs crossed. “This is Officer Debra O’Hara. She seems to have forgotten that desks are for working not sitting.”

“Nice to meet you.” Dick extended his hand.

Debra sized him up. “New recruit, Commissioner?”

“Play nice, O’Hara. He’ll be riding with you.”

“My name’s Richard Grayson. Everyone calls me Dick.”

Debra stifled a giggle. “Alright, _Dick_. Everyone here calls me Debbie.”

“O’Hara here will show you the ropes. If you need any other assistance, then I will be in my office.“ Jim patted his shoulder, leaving him alone with his new partner.

Debra, at first glance, was your ordinary officer. She was somewhat cocky but nothing outwardly suspicious. She made over a dozen arrests just last month, but beneath it all, she was hiding a history.

Evidence disappeared on her watch. Nothing concrete to connect her to it. He sat in the chair across from his new partner. She was smart. For that, he had to give her credit. He would have to keep a close eye on her movements.

“Earth to Grayson! Have you heard anything I was saying?”

Dick came back to his senses; Debra was waving her hand in front of his face “Okay newbie. First lesson, always pay attention. We got a call about a couple of men who just robbed Gotham Jewelers. We’re headed there now.”

Dick grabbed his holster on the way out. As they entered the cruiser, Debra wasted no time in grabbing the radio and turning on the siren. “Dispatch, what’s the status of the robbery at Gotham Jewelers?”

_“Suspects have taken off on foot east of Gotham Jewelers. Two white males. Armed.“_

“Copy that.” Debra stepped on the accelerator.

Dick held onto the roof of the cruiser as they turned the corner. Her driving, while useful, was a bit erratic. They drove in the direction in which the suspects were last seen, scanning the streets and the alleyways.

“Oh, god. They're on the roof.“ Debra pulled over and sprinted out of the car. She climbed up the fire escape. Dick followed behind her. On the rooftop, he could see the suspects ready to jump to the next building.

“STOP! GCPD!” When they didn’t stop, Debra pulled out her gun intending to clip one of them.  That’s when he saw the third suspect, shorter than the other two and awfully familiar. He knew there’d be hell to pay afterwards, but he shoved Debra to the ground. The bullet fired harmlessly into the air.

“What the fuck Grayson?” Debra was holding her arm in pain.

Dick shrugged. “Sorry, my mistake. I thought I saw one of them pull a gun.“

Debra waved her hands angrily at him. “I can’t deal with this right now.” She got up and scanned the rooftop. It was empty; they were gone.

Dick couldn’t help but feel relieved. It could have been a trick of the light, but on the off chance it wasn’t, he couldn’t let Debra make the shot.

“Newbie. Lesson 2, don't play the hero! Let's go back to the store while they canvas the area.“

Dick looked back onto the rooftop. He had a bad feeling.

 

* * *

 

_“Welcome, Zatanna Zatara.”_

_“Welcome, Madame Xanadu.”_

“Batman.”

Bruce folded his arms across his chest. “Madame Xanadu. Zatanna.“

Madame Xanadu nodded in acknowledgement. “Can I ask why we are meeting here at Watchtower?”

Bruce turned to the monitor. “Because we need the League’s help in order to locate Constantine. Frankly, we haven’t gotten far these past months. Every time we get close to the warehouse it vanishes.”

No matter how hard he looked there was no trace of the occult detective. He tried the Gotham underground, but they were all keeping quiet.

The doors opened. “ _Welcome, Flash. Welcome, Wonder Woman. Welcome, Martian Manhunter. Welcome, Superman.”_

One by one they stepped off the teleporter pad.

“What an honor it is to meet the entire League.” Madame Xanadu said.

Bruce stepped forward. “These supernatural occurrences are happening across the states, am I correct? We need the help of the team to find any leads. I'm sending Flash and Green Lantern to Beacon Hills to figure out why these anomalies started. Superman and Wonder Woman will go with Zatanna to talk to the witch Enchantress. If there is anyone who knows about these creatures and their recent sightings it’s her.“

“I don’t like the idea of talking to Enchantress, Bats,” Zatanna pursed her lips, “She’s evil remember? I don't think she'd want to help us find Constantine.”

“It was Constantine that returned June Moon to her.” Bruce said. “I think she’ll talk.”

“And my purpose Batman?” Martian Manhunter asked.

Bruce glanced at the other Leaguers. “You have your assignments. J’onn if you’d follow me.“

Bruce and J’onn walked into the hallway, making sure everyone else was out of earshot. “I have a favor to ask of you J’onn.”

The Martian read Bruce’s face. “I can tell something is troubling you. Someone close to you.”

Bruce took a photo out of his pocket. In it was Stiles smiling at the academy with Tim. “This kid, Stiles Stilinski. He ran away a month ago. He’s had this mission to clear his father’s name. I just don’t-“

“You do not want him making a mistake that he will regret.“ J’onn took the photo. “He looks bright. Why not stop him now, before it is too late?”

Bruce shook his head. He had considered it. Stopping Stiles. Dragging him back to the manor. But he couldn’t do that. Stiles was fighting his own demons. A familiar concept to Bruce. However, it didn’t mean he couldn’t keep some sort of eye on him. Jason had died because he wasn’t there. Stiles would be different.

“That was not your fault.”

Bruce lifted his head. “I told you not to read my mind.”

“I apologize. If you want me to follow Stiles, then I will.” J’onn placed a hand on his shoulder. “At some point you have to be honest with yourself. You distance yourself from the boy because you are afraid of getting hurt again.”

Bruce frowned, turning away from J’onn. “Maybe you’re right, but it’s for the best.”

“For who?”

He heard the doors open and J’onn was gone. Bruce pulled back his cowl, rubbing his temples. He made a promise and he intended to keep it.

 


	9. The "Cat" Burglar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helloooo! A lot of things have come in the past couple of months, so I haven't had much time to edit chapters 9 and 10. I wanted to post a little snippet of chapter 9 and I hope to get the rest of it up soon. Since school has started up again I won't be posting every Friday, but I promise to update whenever I can. Never fear, it's my goal to finish this story. Hope you like it! :)
> 
> Update: Here is Chapter 9! Finally! Physics has taken a lot of my time, but I finally got around to finishing. Thanks for reading :)

Before he even opened his eyes, Stiles knew something wasn't right. During his time in Gotham, he had gotten used to the noise that accompanied city life. But there was a stillness in the air that left him unsettled.

Stiles was standing in the middle of a clearing. Tall trees surrounded him on all sides. Above him, he could see the full moon, shining brightly against the night sky. Entranced by its light, he almost couldn’t turn away.

"Stiles!"

He recognized that voice. "Scott?"

"Stiles!"  

He frantically looked around the clearing. Beyond the trees, he saw a shadowy figure moving in the darkness. Stiles chased after it, traveling deeper into the woods.

“Scott!”

The figure showed no signs of stopping. Stiles tried to keep up, but the thick canopy overhead made it difficult to see. He kept tripping over exposed roots and had to stop himself from wincing when a stray branch scratched his face. Yet, he pushed through it. He was so close. He just had to-

_Slam!_

“Ow, ow, ow.”  

He held his injured nose and glared at the offending tree.

“Are you okay, Stiles?”

He turned around. Scott stood in front of him with a concerned look on his face. He was exactly as Stiles remembered. From his floppy hair to the red t-shirt he wore when Stiles left for Gotham. After so many months, he was happy to see him. No, ecstatic.

“I knew we shouldn’t have come out here. We’re going to get in so much trouble!”

“Scott, what are you talking about?”

“The body! We shouldn’t have come looking for the body!”

Scott took something out of his pocket and shakily put it to his mouth. If Stiles wasn’t mistaken, it was the same inhaler his friend threw out more than a year ago after being bitten by the alpha. It was all giving him a feeling of deja vu. The woods. The body.

“We’re on the preserve, aren’t we? Looking for Laura Hale’s body.”

“Yes! And your dad’s going to be here any minute-”

“-to bust us. You said that the last time.” Stiles stepped away from Scott. “You’re not really here. This isn’t real. None of it is.” He paused. “Am I dreaming?”

Scott’s usually expressive face turned blank. His eyes no longer held their familiar warmth but an emptiness that frightened him. “This isn’t a dream, _Mieczyslaw_.”

Stiles flinched at the sound of his name. Scott could never pronounce it right.

“Then what is this?”

Scott walked past him and placed a hand on the tree. “A warning.”

Tendrils of blue light escaped from Scott’s hand and made their way up the tree, filling every crevice in the bark. Stiles watched as it grew brighter, illuminating the woods around him.

“The Nemeta are sacred places. They are believed to be centers of life and death. You’re here because you have something inside of you, Stiles. Something that will change the world.”

“There’s nothing special about me. You’re the one who got bit by a werewolf.”

Scott cracked a smile, but Stiles could see that it didn’t reach his eyes. “That’s creepy, you know.”

His friend shook his head and beckoned him over to the tree. Stiles hesitated but did what he asked. As he got closer, he could hear a soft thrum emanating from within. It was almost like it was calling to him with a sweet melody. He reached out and placed his palm on the bark.

The effect was almost immediate. A rush of energy coursed through him, awakening everything in its path. He felt lighter than he had in a long time. Freer.

Suddenly, he heard a crack of lightning, causing him to recoil away from the tree.The blue light around Scott’s hand dissipated, leaving behind a black stain that spread to the rest of the tree like an infection.

“It grows every day in strength. His power. You can't let him find you. The man with no face.”

The man with no face. Stiles thought back to the surveillance video he saw on Parrish's laptop. The man who framed his father. Could it be him?

“Why can't he find me?”

“I have no more time. You have to go.”

“Wait! Why can't he find me? Who is he?” Stiles asked.

Scott closed the gap between them and grabbed his shoulder. “Wake up, Stiles.”

* * *

“ _W_ _ake up!_ ”

Stiles’ eyes fluttered open. He found himself lying on a bench, his arms wrapped tightly around his duffel bag. From what he could tell, it was early in the morning; the sky was tinted with an orange hue, and he could faintly smell the dew on the grass beneath him.

He wiped the sweat from his forehead and pushed himself into a sitting position. Scott, the nemeton-had it all been a dream?

The stress must be catching up with him. It had been months since his dad was arrested, and he was no closer to finding out who, or what, framed him. Not to mention his deal with-

Crap. He shot up from the bench, dropping his duffel bag on the ground. The Russians. He felt his heart skip a beat. Since the jewelry heist, he had been trying to come up with ways to impress Sergei. So far, nothing. He had no idea where to start, and he was running out of time. Sergei made it perfectly clear what would happen if he didn't deliver.

He moved to pick up his duffel bag, pausing when he saw glass shards in the grass. He inspected one of the shards and looked up; the bulb from the lamp post had shattered. Odd. He didn't remember it being broken. Stiles stared at it for a moment before grabbing his bag and heading towards the city's streets.

Gotham was a big city, and it was easy to get lost. But Stiles had become adept at finding his way around. He let his feet take him along a familiar path, passing various storefronts and street vendors. People were already out and about, rushing in all directions to wherever they needed to be.

A smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he spotted a small fruit stand at the end of the sidewalk. A van was parked behind it, and he could hear someone shuffling inside.

“Luis?”

“Derek! Would you mind helping me with these boxes?”

Stiles walked around to the back of the van. The old man was struggling with a stack of apples, and he could see his face was getting red from exertion. Stiles quickly took it from him, an action he could tell was much appreciated.

“How’s business, Luis?”

“Good, good. How have you been? I haven’t seen you in awhile.”

Stiles set the box on the table. “Uh, I’ve been keeping myself busy, you know...here and there,” he said, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck.

“Not too busy, I hope. I could always use the help. Here, take this.”

Luis reached a hand into his green apron, pulling out a wad of crumpled dollar bills. “Oh, you don't have-”

“Take it. It's the least that I can do, Derek.”

After a moment's hesitation, Stiles accepted the money, the earnest look on Luis’ face making it hard to refuse. The elderly fruit seller always worried about him. The day they met, he had run out of money and ended up searching for work. Luis was the only person who didn't look at him like he was going to rob him blind, and even gave him small jobs from time to time.

“And take an apple too! You're too skinny.”

His stomach decided that it was the perfect time to make itself known. Luis put the apple in his hand, preempting any objections from Stiles.

“Thanks. I promise that I will find a way to pay you back.” He said, feeling a little guilty that Luis was giving him so much. “I gotta get going, but I'll be back soon. _Que tengas un buen dia!_ ”

“Hey, you're getting better at your Spanish. _Usted tambien,_ Derek.”

Stiles waved goodbye and went to wait at the crosswalk. When the signal to walk lit up, he weaved his way through the crowd, taking a couple bites from his apple. Alone again, he focused on his current predicament.

He could rob a bank, but as much as he joked about actually doing it, he wasn't sure he could really pull it off. There was also the risk of someone getting hurt, himself included.

He turned the corner, and as he was walking by the museum, a green banner caught his eye. On it, in black lettering, it said, _New to the Hall of Gemstones: the Cat's Eye Emerald_.

Now that was an idea. Stiles hurried up the steps and pushed his way through the revolving door. Inside, long, white columns lined either side of the room, and at its center, was the giant skeleton of a t-rex. Stiles approached the ticket counter, behind a large group of teenagers on a field trip. While the teacher was distracted at the front, he took the opportunity to slip in between them.

“Okay, everyone. We have about two hours. Please stay with the tour group, so we can have time to get through all the exhibits. I do not want to waste time looking for anyone.”

“Alrighty.“ The tour guide up ahead gave them a smile, “First stop, Ancient Civilizations.”

Stiles pulled the hood of his jacket over his head, keeping to the back of the group as he followed them from hall to hall. At some exhibits he was tempted to stay, staring in awe at the larger-than-life displays. There were Incan artifacts, ancient Greek sculptures, and even an enormous replica of the Great Sphinx of Giza.

Finally, the tour guide ushered them into a dark room: the Hall of Gemstones. Along the walls, there were various glass display cases, with only a dim light illuminating them from above. Rubies, diamonds, and all types of precious gemstones. But his attention was fixed on the display case in the back of the room. The Cat’s Eye Emerald. It was more beautiful than what he had expected. It almost seemed to glow as the light reflected off it’s green surface. He stood in the front of the group, only half listening as the tour guide spoke.

“The Cat’s Eye Emerald is rumored to have belonged to a Mexican Empress. It’s net worth is around three million. Pretty cool, huh guys?”

He turned his head sharply. Three million dollars? He didn’t think it was worth that much. A couple thousand maybe, but not three _million_ dollars. He was filled with a sudden feeling of dread. It would be more than enough to satisfy Sergei, but it also highered the stakes. If he did this, there would be no going back.  

Had he really gotten that desperate?

Yes. Yes, he had. Davies had fought hard in the courtroom, but the cards were stacked against him. His dad was convicted a couple of days ago. The jury had taken only two hours to hand down his sentence: life in prison. It was like a sucker punch to the gut. Not only was he fighting to prove his dad’s innocence but the chance to ever be together again. It was up to him now. All he needed to do was get the emerald out of the museum. How hard could it be?

Stiles scanned the room. He counted four cameras; one was focused on the emerald, while the other three panned the rest of the room. He could sneak in at night, when the museum was empty and only a few night watchmen would be around.

“I think you’re forgetting the silent alarm.”

Stiles spun around; a woman with short hair and a black leather jacket was leaning against the wall.

“And the motion sensors.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He said, hoping it wasn’t one of the museum personnel. He pointed at the tour group that was making its way to the exit. “I’m with them, so..”

The woman raised her brows in disbelief. “I think you do know, and you’re definitely not with them. You look like you haven’t had a decent meal in weeks. You’re clothes are dirty and full of holes. I know a street kid when I see one. Just so you know, it’s not going to be as easy as you think. It’s a big job for an amateur. Usually you build up to this sort of thing.”

“Amateur?” The way she had said the word, as if excluding herself, made everything click into place. “You want to-!”

“Shhh. Not so loud.” She said, linking arms with him. They walked out of the Hall of Gemstones and past the tour group.

“You want to,” he started again but in a whisper, “ _steal_ the emerald, too.”

“What gave you that idea?”

She led them to a secluded area of the museum.

“Oh, I don't know. Maybe your intimate knowledge of museum security.”

“Ha, ha. You're funny. I've been watching you. Not many people have the guts to take on a place like this. Especially a place like this. The previous owner, Philip Kane, was a paranoid man. Made sure security was top notch. While you’re not exactly a master thief, you have…potential. If you want to learn a thing or two, meet me here after dark.”

Stiles unhooked his arm from hers, “Why would you help me? You don’t even know me.”

“You can call me Cat. What’s your name?”

“Derek.”

“Well, Derek. Now we know each other. Look, I’m doing you a favor because I’ve been where you’re at. You’re not getting inside the museum without my help. Once we get the emerald, I’ll even give you a share. What do you say?”

Cat was right, he would never get in by himself. It was a good offer. Too good, in fact. She could have an ulterior motive for helping him, one that didn’t end well for him. And who’s to say she would give him a fair share. Stiles needed it to prove himself, and more importantly, he needed it for his dad. He let out a deep breath. It was a risk he would have to take.

“Okay.”

Cat patted him on the shoulder, “Good. I’ll see you then.”

And then she disappeared into another exhibit. Stiles decided it was time to leave, too, and made his way towards the front of the museum.

“Stiles! Is that you?”

Stiles stopped dead in his tracks. He looked over his shoulder and saw Tim running in his direction. After his initial shock wore off, he hurried towards the exit.

“Stiles, wait!”

“Leave me alone, Tim!”

Stiles jerked forwards as a pair of arms wrapped around him. He tried to get out of the hold but Tim only tightened his grip. “No, Stiles! You’re not running out on me! Not again,” Tim said, whispering the last part under his breath.

Stiles gave up, his shoulders slumping in defeat. Tim hesitantly let go and stepped back. “Tim-

“Let me say something first, Stiles.” Tim looked at him with a steely resolve. “I understand why you left, I mean, I’m not mad about that-”

“Tim-

“No, let me finish. I’m mad that you left without even giving me a chance to help you! You just dropped off the face off the earth. Alfred’s worried sick; he waits at the gate every day, hoping you come back. Bruce keeps to himself, and no one wants to tell me what the hell is going on,” Tim sucked in a breath, “I thought you trusted me. I thought we were friends.”

Stiles stared at Tim. He didn’t know what to say. Before he could think of anything, Tim dug around in his backpack and handed him his cell phone. “Take it. I know you left yours at the manor. I can always get another one. If you need anything, or if you just want to talk...I won’t make you come back, but I’m here for you, Stiles.”

“Tim get back with the group!”

“I guess I gotta go. Call me, please.” Tim said before jogging back to the crowd of students.

Stiles tucked the cell phone in his pocket, guilt gnawing away at him. He couldn’t go back. Not yet.

* * *

“Blackgate Penitentiary, sir.”

The car came to a stop in front of the looming fortress. Blackgate was Gotham's worst kept secret. Ripe with corruption, the ACLU tried multiple times to shut it down. The only reason it stayed open was because the city needed a place to keep the worst of the worst.

John Stilinski's indictment and subsequent conviction landed him in Blackgate. But his life sentence might as well have been a signed death warrant.

He was surrounded by people he helped put away. People who had the connections and the means to make an accident befall him.

“Master Bruce, would it not be wiser to tell Mr. Stilinski what his son is really up to?”

“No,” Bruce said. “What he needs to focus on right now is survival. Telling him will only distract him.”

Through the rear view mirror, he could see the discontent in Alfred's eyes. They had had the same argument before, and while he felt guilty about not telling John the reasons behind Stiles running away, he knew it wouldn't do any good. John was in prison; there was nothing he could do.

“He has a right to know. What if it was Master Dick or Tim?”

“I would want to know.” He admitted. “But Stiles isn't going to come back just because I ask him to. I can't guarantee him that his father's conviction will be overturned. He's going to stay out there until he has answers. John doesn't need that hanging over his head.”

Bruce pushed the door open and stepped out. Alfred quickly walked around the front of the car to meet him.

“When he was entrusted to us by Mr. Stilinski, we swore to protect him. But you seem to have given up on him. How do you know you won't be able to convince him? You haven’t even tried talking to the boy, Master Bruce!”

“And say what? That I’ve seen firsthand how corrupt, how dangerous, Mario Falcone and his people are. How would I explain that without revealing that I’m the Batman? You know that’s not an option.”

“I shudder to think what would happen if he crossed that man, and I would never forgive myself if there was something I could do to prevent it. He is a child, Master Bruce. He is untrained, foolish, even. You gave up your life to be the Batman, sir! For your mission. What Stiles needs is guidance, guidance that Jason needed.”

“Don’t you dare bring Jason into this.”

“It has everything to do with Jason! It’s the reason you kept an eye on him after his father was arrested. Why you invited him to the manor. Yet you keep him at arm’s length when you are the only one who can help him. You’re afraid that no matter what you do he’s going to end up like Jason anyways.”

Bruce clenched his fists by his sides. “You don’t know what the _hell_ you’re talking about!”

_Slap!_

He raised a hand to his stinging cheek. Alfred’s eyes were wide with shock. “I apologize, sir. But don’t presume that I don’t know what I am talking about. Jason was important to me, too. As is Stiles.”

“There’s no need to apologize,” Bruce said. “You only said what you thought was right.”

He turned on his heel and left his butler by the car. Alfred had struck a nerve. There wasn't a day he didn't think of Jason, and as he walked through Blackgate to visitations, a wave of grief washed over him. But he was quick to compose himself when the guard buzzed him through the door. He sat in front of the glass partition, where John was already waiting for him.

He had a busted lip and had deep purple bruises on his face. There was also a wariness in his eyes, a telltale sign of a man who’d seen too much.

Bruce picked up the phone, and John reached for his own.

“He hasn't come back?”

“No,” Bruce cast his eyes down, “I'm sorry.”

John sighed into the phone. “It’s not your fault. He's a stubborn kid.”

Bruce let out a small laugh. “I wonder where he gets it from.”

“Oh, you mean these,” John pointed at his bruises. “You should see the other guys.”

“Were they Black Mask's people again?” Bruce asked.

“Yeah. Not too fond of cops. But don't worry about me. I can handle myself.”

“I don't doubt that.” Bruce said, recalling an earlier conversation where John had mentioned being ex-military.

John leaned on the metal table with his elbow, his hand holding his head. “I don't know how any of this happened. The move to Gotham was supposed to be a fresh start. I know Gotham isn’t perfect, but it's definitely changed since my wife and I were here last. I never thought I would end up here, and leave Stiles all by himself.”

“It's not over yet. Malcolm and I, we’re appealing your case. We won't stop until we've exhausted every avenue in the courts.”

“Bruce,” John said with a quiver in his voice, “thank you for everything you've done for me. And for Stiles. He’s my entire world. Has been since the moment we knew he was coming. I won't give up the hope of seeing him on the other side of these bars.”

John turned his head towards the guard behind him, “My time's up. I guess this is goodbye.Thanks for coming, I don't get many visitors. Tell me if you hear anything from Stiles.”

“I will. Goodbye, John.” He hung up the phone, and after John had left, Bruce went back to the car.

Alfred opened the car door, “Master Bruce.”

“Alfred,” Bruce placed a hand on his shoulder, “you were right. I haven't been doing enough. That’s going to change.”

“I am glad to hear that, sir.”

 


	10. The Cat's Eye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 10 is finally up. I'll be pretty busy in April and early May, so the next chapter will hopefully be posted late May/early June. Enjoy :)

Stiles was officially panicking. It was a quarter after midnight and Cat was a no show. He slid down the brick wall, a hand clutching his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to take deep, slow breaths.

" _You have to stay centered, Stiles."_ His dad's voice reminded him. " _Inhale. Now count with me. One. Two."_

Three. Four. Exhale. Stiles continued the breathing exercise until he could think clearly again.

"Where are you, Cat?" He asked the empty air.

"Up here, darling."

Stiles tilted his head upwards and caught sight of a woman perched on the ledge above him, wearing a black bodysuit, red goggles, and were those cat ears?

"Oh, I get it. Cat for cat burglar. That actually makes a lot of sense. Although, I think you're taking the term a little too literally and do you know how long I've been waiting for you?"

Cat jumped off the ledge and landed in a crouch in front of him. "Thievery doesn't usually happen during the daytime"-she offered him a hand-"and it's Catwoman. From here on out, we only use code names."

"What's mine then?"

"How about kitten?"

" _Kitten_? No way. What about Catman? No...that sounds dumb. I'm not even dressed up. Maybe-"

"Catboy?"

"Oh, come on!"

"It's not that bad and hurry up, we don't have all night."

Stiles snapped his fingers, a name suddenly coming to him. "Call me Wolf."

Cat rolled her eyes. She handed him a black domino mask. "Fine. Now get up and put this on."

"What's this?"

"A disguise. The red hoodie makes you stand out like a sore thumb. The mask will at least hide your face. Keeping your identity a secret is a must if you don't want to end up in Blackgate."

"Street kid, remember? It's the only thing I have."

"Just put it on."

"Alright," he pressed the mask against his face, "What's next?"

"You're going to love this part," she said, producing a gun with a hook on the end.

"Why-"

She grabbed his waist and shot it up into the air. Then, his feet left the ground and they were speeding upwards.

"-fuckkkkkk!"

Suddenly, they came to a halt. He looked down, instantly regretting it. A wave of nausea hit him, blurring his vision and making his stomach queasy.

"Easy, huh?"

"No." He said through clenched teeth. "Not at all."

"You'll get used to it." She hefted him over the roof's ledge and then herself.

As he dusted his jeans off, Cat circled an open skylight. "I've disabled most of the security. Cameras. Motion sensors. The inside is more tricky. Kane made sure of that."

"What about the night watchmen?"

"They'll wake up soon enough," she said. Cat turned to Stiles, grappling gun in hand. "We're going down this time."

"Not again," he whined. "Why couldn't we go through the front door?"

"It's safer. We're less likely to be seen."

"Fine. Let's just get it over with."

He let her wrap an arm around his waist and this time he kept his eyes closed, the feeling of weightlessness the only indication that they were falling. Cat put his feet on the ground and he opened his eyes, surprised to be still in one piece.

"Afraid of heights?"

"You could say that." He said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

The museum was dark except for a few emergency lights, but he could tell that they were inside the Hall of Gemstones. Cat handed him a flashlight from her backpack, and he pointed it at the back of the room. There, was the Cat's Eye. He walked over to it, the green glow beckoning him forward. He outstretched his arms, ready to lift the glass, but was yanked back by his hood.

"Not so fast." Cat took his flashlight and shined it around the glass. "Tripwire."

She flashed the sharp nails on her glove, which looked more like claws, and used one to scratch a circle into the glass. She pushed it in, and carefully, she lifted the emerald out of the display case.

Cat had a triumphant grin on her face. Behind her, Stiles saw a white gas forming. "Is that supposed to happen?"

She turned around and cursed. "Should have known the actual thing was rigged."

"What does that mean?"

"The alarm's been set off. We need to leave before we can't see anything at all."

She took her grapple gun and shot it at the skylight, but it was knocked out of the air by a fast-moving projectile.

"Catwoman."

Stiles flashed the light in the direction of the voice. With the bat symbol on his chest, he was, unmistakably, the Batman. Unlike the ball, when he had only caught glimpses of him, here he stood in front of him in all his intimidating glory. "Oh, shit."

"Batman. What a wonderful surprise. Have you met my new protege, Wolf?"

He waved awkwardly at the Batman. "Hi."

"Leave the gem, Catwoman." He said, gruffly. "No one needs to get hurt."

"But where's the fun in that?" She tossed Stiles the emerald and unhooked a bullwhip from her belt.

Batman fell into a fighting stance. Then, Cat lunged at him, claws at the ready.

Stiles dove behind a display case, emerald held tightly against his chest. He peered around the case, catching the moment when Cat threw Batman against the wall.

The smoke was starting to fill up the room, making it difficult to see. He turned off his flashlight and crawled towards the exit.

His hands hit something hard. He patted whatever it was, trying to make out the shape. "These. These are shoes."

"Yeah, they are."

It didn't sound like Batman or Cat. Without thinking, he rammed into the person's legs, knocking them off their feet, and dashed out of the exhibit.

He was running when he felt a sharp pain in his lower leg. He hissed and fell to the ground, the emerald flying out of his hands.

"Robin 1. Dumb robber 0."

Stiles scrambled to his feet and turned around to face the newcomer. Under the hallway lighting, he could clearly see that it was another kid, who couldn't have been much older than him, in a red and green costume and a green domino mask on his face. A yellow 'r' was emblazoned on the top left of his chest.

"Does everyone dress up like it's Halloween?"

"Says the robber hiding behind a mask."

"Touche. So, Robin. It's Robin, right? What are the chances that you're just going to let me walk out of here."

"Not likely."

"Can't say I didn't try."

Stiles looked between Robin and the emerald.

He didn't get this far to leave with nothing, and he absolutely couldn't get arrested. He'd have to fight his way out.

Stiles made the first move, swinging a fist at Robin. He caught it mid swing and secured a handcuff around his wrist with an audible  _click_.

"Dammit."

"Not much of a fighter, are you?"

Stiles stomped on his foot, and Robin let out a yelp, releasing his hand. "No, but I still have a few tricks."

He sidestepped Robin's next punch, ducked under his other, but was too slow for the last which was coming straight for his face.

His hands shot up instinctively to protect himself from the blow. But it never came. Instead, he heard a loud crash.

Stiles lowered his hands and saw Robin lying on the ground a few feet away from him, unmoving. "Robin?"

"Robin," he tried again but closer.

"Ughhh."

He kneeled by his side and shook his shoulder. "Hey, are you okay? What happened?"

Robin's eyes flew open, and he grabbed his wrist in a death grip. "You did," he said hoarsely.

"What?"

Robin shoved his hand into his line of vision. Any rebuke died on his lips. Wisps of blue light were coming off it. He looked at his other hand; the same thing. "I don't-, that couldn't have been-"

Robin let go of his wrist. He sat up, albeit slowly. "It was. I saw it."

"That's impossible! I'm just me. Regular old Stiles-" He clapped a hand over his mouth.

"What did you just say?"

"Nothing."

"You said."

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did."

Then, without warning, he ripped the domino mask off of Stiles' face. "What are  _you_  doing here?"

"Um, I think it's pretty obvious."

"No, that's not what I-forget it. You need to get out of here." Robin was on his feet. He pulled Stiles up roughly. "Now!"

"Hold on. A minute ago you were trying to arrest me and now you're telling me to go. Which is it?"

"I can't explain." He handed his mask back. "You're going to need to trust me on this."

"Trust you!"

"Take the back exit." Robin pushed him backwards. "Just go!"

Stiles hesitated to run, but the seriousness in Robin's voice convinced him that he probably should. He snatched the emerald on his way out, never looking back or stopping for anything.

Finally outside, he breathed a sigh of relief.

"I thought you took off."

"Cat!" He yelled in surprise. "What happened to Batman?"

"He's a little tied up at the moment. Do you have the emerald?"

He opened his fist. The Cat's Eye was resting on top of his palm. "Right here."

 

* * *

 

They drove back to the Batcave in a tense silence. On their return, Bruce made a beeline for the computer and Tim went to put away his gear. As he unhooked his belt, his fingers brushed over his shuriken and he was hit with instant guilt. Had he known it was Stiles, he wouldn't have thrown it. But that just brought up another question. Why was he there? It couldn't have been just for the emerald. Stiles didn't seem the type.

And what was that blue energy?

"Tim can you come here a minute?"

"Sure." He hung up the belt on the rack and walked over to where Bruce was furiously typing away.

"What can you tell me about Wolf?"

"Wolf?"

Bruce turned around in his chair to face Tim. "Catwoman's apprentice. You fought with him outside of the exhibit."

"Um," Tim averted his eyes, "Not much. He's young. Not an experienced fighter."

"Yet he managed to escape with the emerald."

"I was"-he tried to think of the right word- "distracted. I'm sorry."

The revelation, the blast, it had all caught him off guard.

"Don't apologize. As long as you're okay. Can I ask what had you so distracted?"

Tim wanted to tell him the truth, but he wasn't sure of how Bruce would react. If he would be understanding or unforgiving. Stiles had crossed a line, but there was still time to bring him back. He wasn't lost to them yet.

"I saw Stiles at the museum. Yesterday, I mean. On my school field trip."

"How was he?"

"He...he needs help Bruce."

"I know."

"Maybe I can help with the Stilinski investig-"

"No!" Bruce put a hand up to stop any objections. "I shouldn't have yelled. I know you want to help solve this case for Stiles, but there's too many unknowns. I don't want to put you at risk."

"I can handle myself, Bruce. That's why you made me your partner."

"Just drop it Tim. I'm not going to change my mind."

"Fine. But I'm not happy about it."

He stalked out of the Batcave in anger. When he reached his room, he sat on the bed with his new cell phone, thumb hovering over his old phone number. Then, he turned it off. Stiles would call when he was ready.

 

* * *

_GCPD Records Room_

 

Dick tossed another case file into a box on the floor. Things just weren't adding up. Dougherty's files were littered with inconsistencies. Well, the files he did find. The others were either incomplete or plain gone.

Dougherty was dirty, that was for sure. But he couldn't shake the feeling that there was something larger at play.

"Are you done, honey? It's almost one o'clock."

"I think so." He gave the records clerk a smile. "Sorry for keeping you so late, Helen. I really appreciate it. I needed to get through a lot."

"Don't worry about it."

"Thanks. Oh and by the way, do you happen to have a report for Officer Dougherty on"-he flipped through a stack of papers-"the 9th of September or-"

Helen stiffened and began rubbing her arms anxiously. "Why would you want those?"

"I'm just checking some things."

"There's probably nothing interesting in them anyways."

"I would really like to have them." Dick pressed on. He could tell she knew more than she was letting on.

"It could take a while. Maybe come back tomorrow-"

"Look, Helen." He stood from his chair. "I'm starting to suspect that those reports aren't there. I think the commissioner would find that  _very_ interesting."

"Please! You can't let him know. I love this job. I had to do it. They threatened my daughter!"

Dick put his hands on her shoulders to steady her. "Who threatened your daughter?"

"I can't say!" Helen was frantic.

"Helen, these people aren't going to just leave you alone. I won't let anything happen to either of you, but you need to tell me who."

Dick helped her sit in the chair. "I don't know their names. A couple officers used to come in here asking for Officer Dougherty's cases. They told me to keep my mouth shut or else they would hurt Katie. So I never asked any questions."

"Could you point them out if I showed you pictures?"

"I-yes. But I won't testify or anything. I have a family."

"That's okay. I didn't expect you to. Would you mind if I took some of these home?"

"No, no. That's fine."

He picked up the stack of files he hadn't finished reading and grabbed his keys off the table.

He found O'Hara on the main floor, sitting on her desk. She had a cigarette hanging between her lips. "Where you headed rich boy?"

Dick grimaced. "Don't call me that."

"That's what you are, aren't you? I did some digging. Eldest adopted son of Bruce Wayne. Worked at Bludhaven until he decided his time was better spent in his hometown." She caught sight of the files in his hands. "What do you have there?"

"To answer both of your questions quickly. I'm going home, and second, it's none of your business." He put them in his backpack. "And I thought you left hours ago? Are you spying on me?"

"Spying, ha. I'm working overtime. Some of us need the cash Grayson."

"Do you need something or are you going to keep harassing me?"

"You suck. You know that?" She stretched her arms above her head. "I wish I had a rich father. I wouldn't be working here, that's for sure."

Dick rolled his eyes. "I like this job, happy?"

"Peachy."

"And you should probably put that out."

"Will do, Officer."

He shut down his computer for the night and made his way down to the parking garage. He got on his motorcycle and drove back to Wayne Manor.

Tim was sitting on the front steps when he arrived. He removed his helmet. "What are you doing up?"

"I need to talk to you. Straight answers. No lies."

"I'm all ears." He took a seat next to him.

"Why is Bruce keeping me in the dark about the Stilinski case?"

So that's what this was about. He put an arm around Tim's shoulder. "Everything Bruce does is to protect you. Ever since Jason's death he hasn't really been the same, so don't give him a hard time, okay."

"It's not fair."

"It's not, but he has his reasons." He leaned back. "I've been working an angle at the GCPD. Might have a lead. Nothing solid yet."

"That's why you transferred." Tim said, realization dawning on his face. "Why did he bring you in and not me?"

"Trust me. If Bruce could do it himself, he wouldn't have asked me to."

"What did you find?"

"That a lot more people are involved than I thought. But don't worry your little head about it. We're going to get to the bottom of this."

The door opened behind them. "Master Dick, you're home."

"Alfred. Is everyone awake?"

"Just Master Tim and I. Can I offer you anything to eat?"

"I'm starving."

"I'm going to bed." Tim said, standing up.

"Tim," Dick tugged on his sleeve, "we'll talk more later, right?"

"Yeah."

 

* * *

 

Cat had taken them back to an apartment in the Upper East Side. He was sitting on the couch while she bandaged his leg, humming under her breath.

"Do you live here?" Stiles asked, trying to fill the empty space.

"I have a lot of places."

"It's homey."

He winced as she tightened the gauze around his wound.

"You talk a lot."

"My dad says so, too. But he finds it endearing."

"Where is your dad?" Cat asked.

He shifted uncomfortably on the couch. "He's...not around."

"Does he have anything to do with why you wanted to steal the emerald?"

"I thought we were in a no questions kind of partnership."

"Call me curious. You went toe-to-toe with Robin for it when most people would have ran. It seems desperate that's all."

Stiles didn't know why she was suddenly prying into his personal life, but his reasons were his own. And frankly, he wasn't willing to share. Though at the mention of the fight with Robin, he couldn't help but look at his hands, half expecting to see the blue light from before.

"Maybe it was. But you were there, too. What's that say about you?"

"Ouch, kitty's got claws. I do it for the thrill. This is a way of life for me."

"Fighting the Batman?"

"Especially that." She said with a smirk on her face. Finished with his leg, she stood up from the couch and walked over to the adjoining kitchen. "Are you hungry, Derek? There's got to be something in here."

"A little." He watched as she rummaged through the cupboards and when her back was turned, he reached into his pocket but found it distinctly empty. "Cat, where is-"

"Looking for this." She said, holding up the emerald for him to see. "It took you long enough to notice. I thought I'd hold onto it for safekeeping."

It seemed that Cat didn't trust him either. "When did you take it?" He asked.

"Back at the museum." She reached a hand above the fridge. "Here it is! I knew I had some cereal."

Stiles cursed his luck. Cat having the emerald complicated things. He hobbled over to the kitchen and sat on one of the bar stools at the counter. "What are you going to do with it?"

"Find someone to fence it. Don't worry, like I said before, I'll make sure you get your cut."

"I'm not worried." Stiles said despite feeling otherwise. Cat had all the bargaining power. If he didn't think of something quickly, he was going to end up with nothing. Slipping the handcuffs she had taken off him earlier under his sleeve, he got off the bar stool. "I think I'm gonna go Cat. I left my stuff in a locker at the rail station, and I don't want anyone taking it."

"Eat first." She said, taking out some bowls.

"No, it's okay. I-" He deliberately put pressure on his bad leg. "-crap!"

Stiles fell down, and Cat came around the counter to help him. "Careful, kid! You're still hurt." She put a hand on his shoulder but was surprised when he slapped a handcuff on her wrist and the other on the metal bar of the stool. Instead of being angry, she started to laugh.

"What's so funny?"

"I don't know what I expected. I was training you to be a thief and that's what I got. But there's a little snag in your plan." She waved her uncuffed wrist at him. "You can try to take it from me, but you know what, I'm going to let you have it."

Stiles stared at her, flabbergasted. "Why?"

Cat placed the emerald in his hand. "What? You think I didn't expect you to try something like this."

"You were testing me." He said, finally understanding.

"Why do you think I work alone? You can't be too trusting in this line of business."

"Did I pass, then?"

"Barely. You really should think your plans through."

"I like being spontaneous." He quipped.

"Spontaneous can get you killed."

Stiles pocketed the emerald. "So you're going to just let me take it."

"Uh huh."

"Just like that. No strings attached."

"Sounds about right."

"I don't get it. You work alone but you help me. I steal from you and you don't bat an eyelash. What gives?"

"I was you once. The streets were hard to navigate; I needed to move up. You obviously need the emerald more than I do, whatever reason you have. I'll find it again. It'll take a little more work, but the fun is in the chase. Now get out of here before I change my mind."

"Don't you need help getting-"

"I got it." She took a bobby pin from her hair. "Come back if you want to learn anything worthwhile."

"Thanks, Cat. You don't know how much this means to me."

"Well, it's only happening this once. So don't get used to it."

He left Cat to her lockpicking and yelled a quick goodbye as he walked out of the apartment and then down into the cool night. Exhausted, he headed straight for the park. He needed all his energy for his meeting with Sergei.

 

* * *

 

Stiles knocked on the club door anxiously, fiddling with the the emerald in his pocket.

" _Can I help you?"_ Someone behind the door asked in Russian.

" _I-"_ Stiles attempted to answer. " _The Gotham trains run through the old city."_

He heard someone whispering loudly behind the door, and then it swung open.

He stepped into the club. The lack of windows made it darker than outside. Purple neon lights lit up the room and booths lined either side.

The place was deserted. He spotted Sergei and Dimitri at the booth closest to the bar. Stiles approached their table and set the emerald down, interrupting their card game.

"I brought you something better."

Sergei looked up from his cards, "Do you play blackjack, Derek?"

"What about the emerald?"

"We'll get to that. Come, sit down." Sergei patted the seat next to him. "So do you play?"

"I've played once or twice."

"Then you know the risks of hitting too high. You shoot too high you might lose it all my friend." Sergei laughed to himself. "Looks like you lost this bet, Dimitri."

Dimitri cursed. He then glared at Stiles. " _Fucker's going to get himself killed."_

"What did he say?" Stiles asked Sergei.

Sergei waved his hand dismissively. "Don't listen to him. He is very negative." He picked up the emerald. "Looks good." He said, handing it to Dimitri. "Where did you get it?"

"The museum. It's the Cat's Eye."

Sergei whistled, impressed. "That was you. I heard the Batman was there."

"He was." Except if it weren't for Cat, he wouldn't have made it out of there.

"No one escapes the Bat! What, did you get lucky?"

"As I said, I'm quick on my feet." The pain in his leg, however, reminded him of how slow he had actually been.

"Are you Kid Flash or something?" He chuckled. "Okay, take it upstairs. First door on the left."

"What's upstairs?" He asked.

"Just go, Derek." Sergei turned back to his cards. "The boss doesn't like to be kept waiting."

Stiles slid out of the booth and walked up the steps, Cat's words echoing through his mind. They could just kill him and take it. There was nothing stopping them. He tightened his grip around the emerald and turned the knob, taking a deep breath. It was now or never.

"Hello?"

He poked his head inside; it was an office. An older man was sitting behind a desk in the corner. His blue checkered suit made him look more like a businessman than the head of the Russian mob.

"Ah, are you my wannabe gangster?" He held out his hand.

Stiles stepped forward and shook it. "My name is Derek Hale."

"Alexei. Sergei said you have something for me?"

Stiles placed the emerald in front of Alexei. "This is the Cat's Eye. Net worth of about three million."

"Really, huh." Alexei reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small magnifying glass. He held the emerald to the light and examined it.

Stiles held his breath, waiting for Alexei to come to a conclusion.

He leaned back in his chair. "I'm impressed. Tell me, Derek, why is it that you're so interested in joining us?"

"I wanted to put my skills to better use."

"And you think they're better used here."

"Yes...sir."

"What exactly are your skills?"

"I'm smart, a fast learner, and as you can see a formidable thief."

"A nice resume, but this does not prove anything to me. You bring me this emerald and you expect me to welcome you with open arms. Get lost, this is not a playground. I have serious work to do."

Alexei was showing him the door. After everything he'd been through-he wasn't just about to leave.

"Please," He begged. "I want to be a part of something bigger than myself. Have somewhere I belong. I'm not going to treat it like a joke."

Alexei sat there, considering. "Alright, Mr. Hale. I'm willing to test this out, but the only reason I am going to do that is because you helped Sergei and Dimitri. You want to be a part of my family; you'll earn your place. However, if I doubt you for one second, I won't hesitate to do what is necessary. Understand me."

"Yes, sir."

"Now leave."

He nearly ran out of the office but forced himself to walk. Sergei was standing outside. "You're not dead."

"Very much alive. Is he always so...intense?"

"Alexei? He threatened to cut off my balls the first time we met." He handed him a slip of paper. "This my number. Text me so I have yours. I'll only contact you through this."

"When will I hear from you?"

"Soon,  _brother_."


End file.
